


Reckless

by Inure



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9160669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inure/pseuds/Inure
Summary: Gloria is just a modern day older sister trying to make her little sister's life better by giving her the summer of her life, but she ends up a little too far away to do just that. (A modern girl in Thedas story).





	1. The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> As a part of my New Year's resolution, I am trying to write more and this is one way I am trying. This is mostly for me, but I hope you enjoy it. I am not sure where this is going so let's find out together!
> 
> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                “I am so excited that we got to see Adele in person,” you hear your sister sigh contentedly next to you as you drive, “Thanks for getting us the tickets Glo!”

                “No prob’ Sash. I only had to stay up all night to get them”

                The night had been lovely. You loved to dote on your little sister Sasha. Now that you were finally back home and had your own job at as a programmer up you had more time (and money) to treat her to everything you wanted. This summer you wanted to make sure she had the best time of her life, while staying out of trouble. That meant you had been hiking, bungee jumping, and to concerts. You weren’t really sure if this was doing more for Sasha or you, but you hoped you were both enjoying it.

                “…once you jump out of the plane everything else is a breeze. Can we please try that next,” Sasha chirped.

                _Shit. What was that? Sky diving?_ “What’d you say Sash? You want me to jump out of a plane?”

                “Yup, I was thinking we could do it right before I have to head back to school? You think we could?” she asked tracing her fingers along the rain drops on the window with her finger.

                “If you want to then I want to,” you respond not entirely sure what you were getting yourself into.

                “Sweet! Thanks Glo,” Sasha shrieked as she began texting.

                Absentmindedly, you begin to sing Set Fire to the Rain and Sasha joined in, soon the two of you were screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. As your voices got louder the rain got more intense. It all felt so poetic, but soon overwhelming and your voice slowly dropped off leaving Sasha to her solo. _I can’t see anything._  You were trying to concentrate on the road and doing a fairly good job, despite the incline. The person behind apparently was not doing so well and rear-ended your car into the intersection just in time for a truck to come barreling toward you. You see it just in time to turn to see your sister oblivious to the impending doom. Trying to avoid getting t-boned you jerk the wheel, but not quickly enough.

                “Sash! Hold on,” You shout. As the truck smashes through your window, you don’t feel much except your left hand. You think it must be pinned or crushed or something because all you feel is pain. You look over at Sasha and although there are dark spots threatening to cover your vision you can see that she looks okay.

                “Sash, you okay?” you manage to croak.

                “Yeah. But you don’t look so good Gloria,” she says.

                You can’t hold onto consciousness anymore and all you can hear is your sister shouting your name and the red and blue flashing lights. Everything goes black. It is cold, wet, dark, and green in your dream. _What are those things?_ Huge black spider things with thousands of eyes were chasing you up an incline. When you reach the top there is an alien with a square head at the top reaching for you. You stretch out your hand and with the contact everything seemed to go too bright for a moment, but then you are somewhere else entirely. A terrible smell fills your nose and begin to choke. Suddenly your body feels too heavy and you stumbled. As you fall you are being surrounded, by who you didn’t know. Your body was too heavy to move and your eyelids felt like weights. _What a strange dream…_

                The wreck must have been worse than you thought because you never really felt good enough to open your eyes for a while. Each time you reached consciousness the pain proved to be too overpowering, so trying to numb the pain, you slip into a fitful rest. As you drift into and out of awareness, you have more dreams dungeons, shouting, and beautiful grey eyes murmuring about our condition—which seemed pretty grim. You didn’t worry too much because Sasha looked alright and you had clearly made it to the hospital, so you let yourself dream of the beautiful eyes.

                “Prisoner! Food!” you hear and it jerks you awake, painfully pulling you from what you thought was a nice dream. Blinking bleary-eyed at the door, you realize you are not in the hospital. In fact, you have no idea where you are just that there is an incessant, incredible pain in you left hand. You look down at your hand, and to your abject horror you find that your hands are shackled and you have been changed into some sort of armor. It was strangely familiar, green, and baggy against your body. _I am still dreaming, I’ve got to be still dreaming._

                Another bark of “Prisoner!” yanks you from your reverie. “Move away from the door.” _Prisoner?_ You try to shuffle yourself away from wooden door, and the door swings open when you do. Soldiers with full body armor open the door. _Swords?_ One stands guard while the other sets the food in food in front of you. You eye it wearily while still keeping your guards in your sights, which was not difficult to do given the size of the room. The taller one turned to the shorter one, “It’s like she’s never seen stew before,” they muttered as they left the room. Pain throbbed through your hand and you screamed as you doubled over. _That hurts so badly._ It felt like it was being broken over and over again, but when you looked at your hand you see a small green tear sparking in your palm. _If I felt that much pain then I am probably not dreaming and if I am not dreaming then…_ Suddenly, it dawns on you where you might be and you try to recall what emblem was on the guards’ armor. Realization hits you like a ton of bricks—you are in Thedas. You try to figure out why or how but your mind is already spinning with possibilities so you figure that can be a problem for tomorrow’s Gloria and dig into the “stew.”


	2. Today's Gloria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gloria is trying to figure out exactly what happened to her, but with no resources and no one to talk to she is having as much luck as you would imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again italics are Gloria's thoughts and this story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                It had been over a year since you had last played Dragon Age: Inquisition, and you had never had the time nor the will to finish the game (let alone the DLC). When your mother had taken a turn for the worse you had used the game as an escape because you couldn’t be there for her, but once she had died you couldn’t bring yourself to touch the game again. Your father had left your family right after Sasha was born and you felt guilty because it was Sasha who had been one at home when your mom when had first fallen ill; it was Sasha who had visited your mom each day; it was Sasha who watched your mother fade away. So, you had made it your mission to make sure that Sasha still had fun her first year of college. _What’re you doing now Sash?_ Being the only family Sasha had left, you wanted to make sure that she never wanted for anything and had everything she needed to be happy.

  
                Today’s Gloria was not having much more luck than yesterday’s or the day before that. No matter how you looked at it, the situation just made no sense. At first you thought that you had hit your head during the accident, but when you checked that side of your face you couldn’t feel any lumps or bumps. Perhaps you were in a coma or a really lucid dream, but that didn’t make much sense either. It seemed the most likely explanation was that you had been transported somehow to a place that didn’t really exist. Each time you tried to figure out how, nothing made sense. _Great work Gloria. Well done, really. You’ve cracked the case._ The one thing which you did notice was that your hair had turned white—like stark white. You couldn’t explain it but you knew it was different. Your body also looked a little thinner and shorter. Without a mirror, you couldn’t really take stock of all the changes, and, with your hands bound, there wasn’t much you could check with those.

  
                You weren’t getting anything from the guards who were watching you. In fact, you were pretty sure that the only words they knew were prisoner, food, and move. _They could at least try to be sociable._ But, you guess it is only logical. They think you are the mastermind behind a catastrophic event. You begin to plan how you are going to get around laying all of your cards on your table. If anyone realizes what you know and what they are they might just kill you first and ask questions later. You resolve to play dumb as much as possible, while having as few causalities as possible.

  
                The list of things you did know was pretty short: you seemed to be in Thedas, you were a prisoner, your guards seemed to be a part of the seeker’s forces, and your hand had a painful green mark in it. This could only mean one thing—you were in the place of the Inquisitor. _So it wasn’t an alien that had reached its hand out for me—at least I am not Shepard._

  
                Given the hiatus you’ve had from the game, you could only remember bits and pieces of what was to befall you if this was not a dream. You calmed yourself by saying that even in the worst case scenario you would probably be transported home once the game ended. _What if there is an ultimate sacrifice ending like in Origins?_ You didn’t want to think about it. You resolved yourself to reach the end of this game alive no matter what it took because you couldn’t let Sasha be alone. One more thing you know is that Haven is what its name implies, and when the time comes you’ll have to make sure you make it out alive.

  
                Since you can feel pain, you reason to yourself for about the umpteenth time that this is probably not a dream, you are probably not a coma, and you are definitely not dead. Ruling out these possibilities, leaves too many unknowns to think about. You can almost hear Sasha saying, “Chill out Glo! You’ll never be able to explain everything. Just enjoy it!” _Right Glo, “just enjoy it.”_ Dream or no, you don’t want to spiral into panic so you close your eyes, picture the sea, and count back from ten. Figuring there is something better you can do with your time, you try to make some guesses about what state you’d left Thedas in. You had been so excited to make world states, but the last one you remember uploading was the happiest one you had. You had hoped it would cheer you up.

  
                Your warden had been Kalinda Cousland and who had fallen for the ever awkward Alistair. Kalinda and Alistair had ended up ruling together, but you had never purchased the DLC so there are a few things you aren’t sure about. _If I know anything it’s about my warden._ Your Hawke had been a sarcastic and jovial mage and loved her exact opposite. Expect the both she and Fenris had a thirst for blood, but she had always done what was right in the end and had sided with the mages when the going got tough. _I am a little nervous to meet her._ Just as you are wondering what your Hawke will be like your guards return.

  
                “Prisoner! It’s time to move, the Seeker wants to question you. Get a move on,” the taller one barks at you. _Probably not the best time to correct them and say that my name is Gloria._

  
                “She’s a quiet one. You always have to watch out for the quiet ones,” the shorter one says leading me toward two more guards.

  
                 _Four guards… Is that really necessary? What kind of ninja moves do they think I can do?_


	3. Poker Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out just how difficult it is for me to spell guard, but I think I have it down now!
> 
> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                All you hear is the clank of armor as you solemnly walk down the corridor. You vaguely remember that both Cassandra and Leliana are there to question you. You know there was a conclave and that you will be accused for causing the chaos which occurred. But you also know that it turned out okay for the in-game inquisitor. You figure that all you have to do is pretend to be the person who everyone thinks you are—the only problem is that you don’t really know who you are supposed to be. You know that characteristics you had attributed to your own inquisitor, but you also wonder if anyone here actually knows the person who you currently are. _Hopefully it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass._ Your inquisitor, unlike your Hawke, was diplomatic. It had been your idea that she would be scared out of her mind and she would do everything in her power to make sure that others couldn’t find a reason to kill her. So since you were both scared out of your mind and wanting to stay alive you think it is probably best to keep a lid on your own thoughts for a while. Moreover, you think it is important that no one figures out that you know more than you should.  

                Soon you reach a room you recognize with grate where you catch a glimpse of the sky for the first time in days. You’re really not sure when you got here and you have no idea what it will be like to be interrogated. Never in your life had you ever been in any sort of real trouble. Hell, you’d never even had detention. You decide to focus on the here-and-now by steeling yourself for Cassandra and Leliana, but all you manage to do is bring more what-ifs into your head. _Leliana is an excellent spymaster—she’ll see right through me._ The guards place you in the center of the room under a sort of skylight and you finally catch a glimpse of the sky. It’s like the northern lights but multiplied by a million mixed with a Van Gogh painting. Closing the breach should be your focus, but if you remember correctly that is only the tip of the iceberg. Again, the tallest guard comes forward, tearing you from your thoughts, and unties your hands. Rubbing your wrists and reveling in the sensation of freedom you hope that they are beginning to trust you. However, your freedom is fleeting as they roughly grab your hands and place them in irons. _This is worse._

                “What’s going on,” you ask, but all you are greeted with is silence.

                You try again, “why did you change my shackles?”

                Still nothing. _Can they even understand me?_ You know that you can understand when they speak, but what if it just a fluke and you sound like you are speaking in tongues. You can just imagine what they must be thinking. A woman falls from a rift, seems to understand you, but every time she opens her mouth nothing but gibberish comes out. _I guess it could be worse._ You think of when you and Sasha were little and had tried to come up with another language. The two of you had actually been pretty successful, and had managed to drive your mother up a wall. You started to laugh.

                “What’s so funny,” one of the new guards asks you raising their sword and placing it too close to your throat for comfort. You can feel the cold radiating from the blade against your neck.

                “Nothing,” you say, trying to smother your laughter.

                “That’s what I thought,” the guard said. _Wait, what?_

                 Question answered: they do understand you. But are you speaking the common tongue or are they speaking English. _I guess it really doesn’t matter does it._ Just as you begin to try to regain your composure the new shackles, or bar, begins to cut into your wrist. Lamenting that your movement is even more restricted with the new iron shackles and you try to find a position which stems your discomfort until you start to feel a strange sensation in your left hand and turn it slowly toward you. It sparks to life and you cannot help but shout in pain. The sensation is almost overwhelming causing spots of darkness to enter your field of vision. Your shouting startles your captors who draw their swords and point them at you. At first they think you are an abomination, but you don’t think you are a mage. They probably just think that you am the biggest terrorist in all Thedas. _Not much better._ You don’t have much time to think before the door in front of you flies open and a familiar figure stalks toward you.

                Cassandra is intercepted by your new sword-happy guard who you are sure is relaying the entire situation. The Seeker cuts a striking figure and you cannot help but to worry about what the guard is saying to her. Before striding toward you, she turns toward Leliana, who you hadn’t noticed had arrived. Leliana’s brow quirks and her gaze levels on you. _They know. How do they already know?_ But rather than saying anything to you Leliana says, “Why do you still have up your swords? Do you really think she could fight her way out of here now?”

_Well, shit. At least the guards are putting their swords away though. What am I going to say to them? I already know more than they do, but saying anything could be dangerous._ Your head begins to spin and your breath picks up. Worry begins to cloud your mind—all you can think about is whether or not they know the truth of your situation or if you should spill the beans immediately. _Gloria that is literally the dumbest idea you’ve come up with. Get it together!_ However, you cannot calm down all you can hear Cassandra’s familiar cadence in the background but you cannot quite bring yourself to focus on what she is saying until you feel her yank your arm. Your hand takes the opportunity to display its form of pyrotechnics. It feels like your hand is being ripped in half. _Fuck that hurts._

                “Explain this,” Cassandra spews at you.

                “I can’t. I don’t even know where to begin. All I know is that it hurts.” _Great. Just great Gloria—way to sound convincing._

                The next few moments are a blur and Cassandra grabs you while accusing you of lying. But the Nightingale steps in and manages to convince Cassandra of your importance within minutes. You decide to play dumb. _Better safe than sorry._

                “I don’t understand. What happened? How did I get here?” You say with a shaking voice.

                You aren’t really lying. You really don’t know what happened or how you managed to find yourself in Thedas, but you know that Cassandra is going to think you mean the explosion. Leliana raises her eyebrow at you, “What do you remember?”

                As you had planned, you opt again to generally stay to the story. “I remember bright lights, running, some spiders, and a woman in a large hat reaching for me.” You think if you are vague enough and stick to pretty much what actually happened to you while integrating what you know from the story then the Spymaster won’t be able to immediately spot the lie. _I mean I don’t think either of them would understand the concept of a car or that the bright lights were from police cars, but that’s fine._

                “A woman,” the Seeker breathes. The Seeker appears to be deep in thought as she directs Leliana toward the door whispering to her as they go so you cannot quite make out what she is saying to her. But whatever it is causes Leliana to turn and walk quickly out of the door. You start thinking about everything you can remember about the beginning sequence. It is the part you know the best because you often tried to restart the game with different characters than the one you were playing when your mom was sick in the hope that you would be able to finish the game. You figure you should keep up acting like you belong until someone figures out that you actually don’t.

                “Do you know what happened,” you ask Cassandra.

                As she helps you to your feet she says, “I will have to show you.”

                The shortest guard begins to undo your shackles. They must have decided that you were not that big of a threat, but they still tied your hands in front of you. _All of these ties are too much. The only sport I ever did was baton twirling._ While they are doing that, Cassandra says, “You should probably brace yourself. If you don’t remember what happened this might be pretty shocking.”

                You step out of where they were holding you and you finally see the whole sky for the first time. The game didn’t do it justice. The green was so vibrant and it seemed to almost pulse—at the very top it was churning and ejecting pieces of what seemed to be rock. Debris were floating in an organized chaos toward the top. It was terribly beautiful and you found that you almost didn’t want to look away. Cassandra’s voice once again cuts through your thoughts. “This is the biggest rift and these all happened because of the explosion which occurred at the Conclave. If we do not act, the world could be consumed by it.”

                Abruptly, the breach seems to have tremor which sends you screaming to the ground. It sears through your palm like someone is making you hold a hot metal rod. _The game doesn’t do the pain justice._ It feel as though your hand is going to fall off or kill you, and if you remember correctly it just might. You know you need to do something about the breach before the pain will leave you, but all you can focus on now is how your mark is spreading.

                “The mark is killing you. We will try to discover shortly whether or not we can do something, but this is your only chance to prove your innocence,” Cassandra says. _I can’t let that happen._

                A million thoughts flash through your head, and you really wish that there were a game guide in the pocket of your armor. Not that it would do you much good there because your hands would still be bound. _Really good Gloria. I wonder what they would do if they found a guide of their conversations and lives for the next however many months._ Since the Seeker will eventually become one of your biggest champions once that jerk who works for the Chantry, you can’t think of his name, shows up and demands you be incarcerated. So, thinking it is better to try to get on Cassandra’s good side you respond with what you think would be something she would approve of, “I am not responsible, but I understand I’ll do what I can.”

                Nodding as she helps up once more, Cassandra begins to walk. _Keep it up Glo!_ If you thought the walk of shame in college was bad, then this was worse. At least most of the walk of shame was in your head, but it seems as though Cassandra is leading you through Haven and you see all of its people staring at you, accusing you, and vilify you. What’s more, the Seeker affirms what you are thinking by saying they need someone to blame. _So much for innocent before proven guilty._ The walk seems to go on forever, all the while Cassandra is next to you excusing the ill-placed sneers and snide comments from the people of Haven. You cannot really blame them. All things considered, Haven is lovely if a little cold. If you remember correctly, soon you’ll have to fight. _What kind of weapon will I have? I hope it is a sword, you just stick your enemy with the pointy end. At least those are intuitive right?_


	4. The Seeker, the Elf, and the Unwelcome Tag-along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                After Cassandra relieves you of your bonds, you begin to move across the bridge. On your right you hear someone pleading with the Maker to save them. You know that soon everything will be better for them, once you seal the breach. But you know it still doesn’t matter if you do manage to seal the breach, Haven will soon be rubble anyway. _I’ve got to stop thinking like that. It is here now, and if I slip up then who knows what will happen besides the end of Thedas as they know it._ All you want is to get home to your home, your sister. _I never even got a chance to say goodbye._ You shake your head, try to refocus on the task at hand, and force yourself back into motion. You keep walking on the bridge past the boxes and soldiers who couldn’t care less about who you are, which is refreshing after the two person hate-parade you just endured.

                The Seeker calls out to the guards on the other side to open the gate so you can head into the valley. Meanwhile, you are watching large green meteors fall from the sky and your thoughts are immediately echoed by a solider sprinting passed you down the incline toward the valley, “It’s the end of the world.” _But not if I have anything to say about it._ With thoughts of Sasha in your mind, you start to run toward the danger. However, you progression is stymied as you fall violently to the ground as the breach pulses again. You grind your teeth against the pain and try to stand but find yourself unable to do and Cassandra comes to push you to your feet. The breach seems to be more active and the pulses are coming more and more frequently as your companion so unhelpfully points out. _It’s like labor only there are demons not babies._  You hear Sasha’s voice in your head, “Is there really a difference though?” Again, no matter how far apart you and your sister are she has managed to lighten your mood. You find yourself chuckling again and catch Cassandra looking at you from the corner of you eye. _She probably thinks all this laughing means I’m guilty._

                Quickly, you come up with an excuse, “Sometimes the mark hurts but sometimes it just tickles.” _Makes enough sense right? Or at least just enough so she won’t question it hopefully._

                You really want more information but just as you open your mouth to ask you think better of it. Honestly, if you were Cassandra and some woman fell from the sky after a massive explosion which killed many people and she was not giving any indication who she was or that she knew anything you would be just as suspicious. But if she then turned to you and asked you what happened while the sky was seemingly falling down you, ( _and she kept cackling about something completely unknown_ ) you would probably be tempted to lock her up and throw away the key.  Now is probably not the time to ask what Cassandra and the others saw when you were transported from home. Making a mental note to ask again later when you have the time to actually concentrate on her response. Because you had been lost in your thoughts while you were run/walking toward the breach, you run onto another bridge but belatedly realize that this bridge is the one that is going to blow up with you on it. You begin to turn to leave, but run into a wall of armor just before you’re sent flying. _Perfect, I hope nothing breaks on impact._

                You land flat on your back and are relieved to find that everything is in one piece. However, your lungs are burning with the lack of oxygen from your ungraceful landing, but the Seeker is already up defending and fight off shades. Which, quite frankly, are terrifying in person when they pop up right in front of you. They look almost faceless except for the bright, ethereal lights where their eyes are meant to be. The shades arms are long with huge claws at the end and you figure that one swipe could slice right through the material of your armor. _That won’t happen though because this is just the tutorial right._ The shade begins to approach you and desperately you scramble backwards on the ice. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough distance between yourself and the shade because it keeps closing the gap and your feet cannot get enough traction on the ice. Suddenly, you feel something in the rubble. Hoping for a sword, you begin yanking. To your horror, you look down and see a staff. _I’m a mage—a fucking mage._ How do you even cast a spell? Terror sweeps through your body. _Maybe I can just smack it on the head or something._

                You use the staff to help get up off the ice and it actually feels really good in your hands, a little cool to the touch but good. _I guess I just have to go with it._ Sweeping the staff away from your body you imagine fire. To your utter shock and delight fire comes spewing out of the end. _What the heck?_ Before you can question too much the shade begins to move around erratically, and you take the chance to run toward Cassandra. However, you realize that way is not much better as both shades descend on the Seeker. They seem to be backing her into a corner so you try arcing your staff but you cannot think of any attacks quickly enough. This time frost, ice, and snow come dancing out of the end. _This must be an ice staff._ Once the last shade falls, you are feeling pretty good about the whole situation even if you feel a little winded so you put your hands on your knees. Smirking, you look up at Cassandra who is looking menacingly at you. _Oh right, she thinks I am a criminal and now I am armed._

                “Drop the staff or I’ll drop you,” she growls.

                Before you can formulate a thought, your hands have already responded to the threat and the staff clatters to the ice. Trying to regain some footing in the conversation you say, “Alright. It’s down, but I think it would be better if I had one. We don’t know when more of those things will emerge, and you should remember, I did come willingly. I have no intention of going anywhere or doing anything which would ruin my chances of proving my innocence.”

                Cassandra opens and closes her mouth a few times, “I guess you are correct. I clearly cannot protect you. But do not forget, you are still awaiting trial.”

                “For crimes I did not commit,” you grumble. _I need her to remember that I am innocent._ You want her to trust you and like you, but you also cannot help but be a little peeved that everyone assumes you are guilty instead of in the wrong place at the wrong time.

                “Enough! Take these and use them when you become injured,” Cassandra says as she shoves what I assume to be Elfroot potion into my pack.

_When? She has no faith in me._ You start to think about what you can do to get back on her good side when you nearly trip over a corpse. Which causes you to turn your head and heave. It’s not like you hadn’t seen a dead body before, but never this battered and bloodied. You weren’t sure that anyone would be able to identify them if they tried. From behind you, you are pretty sure you hear a noise of disgust, so you try to pull yourself together. _Come on Gloria, you are being ridiculous this is just a game and if you don’t get moving this will be you._ You breathe in through your nose, but that was probably the worst idea possible. The smell of blood and ash fill your nose and you start to sputter out coughs. _Now is not the time Gloria, get your shit together._ After you steel your nerves, you turn away from the unfortunate soul and move forward. The wind in the ravine is bracing and finds its way through the seams of your armor. The cold keeps you from thinking too much about all the chaos around you and successfully grounds you in the now.

                Seeking a distraction you turn to Cassandra you ask, “Where are the rest of your troops?”

                Her only response is, “We are own for now. We must press forward until we reach them.”

                The two of us are nearly in a full sprint now, mostly at Cassandra's urging. You are just about winded again _. I should have done more cardio, but who is to know they’ll be dropped into the middle of an action game._ Just as you are resolving to work out more when you get home, you hear an otherworldly groan and Cassandra yelling, “Watch out. We should flank them.”

_Thank god I’ve played a rogue before. That means get to the side of them, right?_

                She jumped down the cliff and you remove your staff from your back. _No way I am jumping down there._ When you finally make your way around the curve, Cassandra is again the meat of a shade sandwich. Again, you arch your staff but nothing happens. _I’m really just going to have to hit them._ So, you use the blade part of your staff and start hacking at them from the side. Blood sprays from one of them and hits you in the face. It is warm and sticky, but mostly makes your already weak stomach turn. It turns on you and you start backing up. Suddenly, it stalls its progression and you see a blade sticking through what you assume to be its chest.

                “Thanks,” you mutter.

                “Just doing my job. You are too valuable to loose. You may be the only key to fixing the sky,” she says. You are pretty sure that Cassandra hates you, but you try not to take it too personally. _Not everyone will love you Glo._

                You begin to move forward and around the next corner you are ambushed by another shade. It is easily dispatched by Cassandra. You’ve grown accustomed to faceless claw monsters which had plagued your journey thus far, but you are unprepared for what you see next. On the hill there is a ghost, a green ghost in the flesh or the plasm or the whatever they are made out of. The only thing you can think to do is scream, which you do, loudly. This, however, only serves to draw its attention to you. A big green ball of something is being hurdled at you. When it hits you, you feel weak and begin to teeter on your feet. But rather that fall you instead lift your staff and strike it into the ground. _That’s a move right?_ And lightening leaps from the end, effectively ending the life of whatever it was. _Maybe I don’t have to think of what I want to happen—maybe I just have to know I want to attack._ You know that you’ll have time to ask other mages soon enough and try to put the embarrassment at having to even ask them at the back of your mind. _Why’d I have to be a mage?_

                “What was that,” you squeak out to Cassandra.

                “A wraith. It attacks from a distance with magic. If you are feeling badly enough, I suggest you take a potion I gave you earlier. Otherwise we need to move out,” Cassandra says blandly.

_I guess I haven’t really gotten her on my side at all._ You manage to get yourself moving again once the weakness wears off, which you attribute to being smacked in the chest with magic. But the next thing you now shades and wraiths are falling from the breach. Terror wells in your chest, with the memory of what happened last time you in your mind you remember not to scream just seconds before it comes out of your mouth. You clamp your mouth shut and trudge forward. Hoping you can generate the lightening again you bang your stick on the ground, but nothing happens. _Shit, I forgot about cool downs._ So, you begin arching your staff again, and to your relief the frost shoots from the end. You head up a hill and now you finally manage to get the high ground against your next set of seemingly unending demons. These three are dispatched with ease but you begin to wonder if you’ll actually make it through this unscathed.

                Finally, you heard Cassandra say, “We are getting closer to a rift! Can you hear the fighting?”

_Yes, of course I hear the fighting_. “Yup, who is it?”

                “How do you expect me to know? I imagine demons and some of our men,” she says.

_Fabulous._ You run up to a ledge, and have second thoughts about jumping over when you feel a hand on your back “helpfully” nudge you over.

                “We have to help,” Cassandra says as she joins you at the bottom, where you have landed on your bottom. _I should really learn to stick the landing._

                Once you get up, you catch Cassandra’s armor flashing as she plunges into battle. You hope your lightening isn’t on its cool down and strike your staff against the ground and the lightening reaches out from your staff to your enemy. You manage to arc your staff and produce ice until there are no more demons in your line of sight. Suddenly, your left arm is grasped and yanked roughly toward the rift.

                “Close it! Quickly,” the bald elf next to you exclaims.

                Your hand tingles as he shoves your hand toward the rift, you twitch your fingers, and your hand snaps into connection with the rift. You feel your energy mingle with its own—like that is what you were always meant to do. _Some freaky shit right there._

                “How the hell did you make the mark do that,” you bark at him. There is no way you could have done that on your own. He probably cast a spell on you, but you never saw him really move. Since you still don’t even know how precisely different spells are cast you are more than a little wary. After all, if he can cast spells on you without you knowing that does not bode well for you. _It is probably something like bending in Avatar—all in the way you move or think._

                “The credit is yours. You are the one with the mark and you are the one who has been able to seal the rift,” he counters sidestepping your question entirely. _Likely, I know what I felt._

                “Yes, but the mark—how,” you ask incredulously.

                “The magic in your hand matches whatever magic is in the sky. I posited that one could be used to counter the other, and it seems I was correct. It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he states.

                “Good,” you hear a familiar voice exclaim from behind you. Knowing his next line by heart you decide to steal it.

                “I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever,” you laugh turning toward Varric. _Oh god, that chest hair is fabulous._

                Varric throws his head back in laughter, “Same! I’m Varric Tethras.”

                You turn toward Solas and wait expectantly, but I hear Varric speak again, “and he’s Solas.”

                Although I know the answer, I want to make small talk, “If you’re here, are you with the chantry?” _Maybe even throw them off from suspecting I am not from Thedas._

                Solas erupts in laughter behind me, “I’m sorry. You were joking surely.”

                “No, I am not. I happen to be a prisoner, like you. I was here to be questioned, but I’m sure the Seeker is pleased I’m here now, given the situation in the valley,” Varric responds without missing a beat.

                “Nice crossbow you’ve got there, I’m sure she’ll help in the fighting,” you say absentmindedly.

                “Yeah, Bianca and I go way back,” Varric chuckles.

                In your corner of your eye, you think you see Solas’ eyebrow raise. _I need to be more careful._

                “We don’t need you Varric. Your help would be welcome if we did but—” Cassandra is cut off by the dwarf in question.

                “Have you actually been in the valley Seeker? You need me. Besides us prisoners need to stick together. Right Snowy,” Varric says.

_Snowy?_  “It’s Gloria, and right now I am glad I am alive.”

                “As am I,” Solas echoes.

                “What he means is, ‘I saved your ass and kept that mark from eating you whole.’” Varric interprets.

                “What do you know about the mark? You seem to know a great deal about it all, or at last have some pretty good hypotheses,” you say hoping that he will tell you more than you know.

                “Solas is an apostate mage, like you,” Cassandra says. _Dammit Cassandra._

                “We are all apostates now Seeker,” you retort earning a nod of approval from Solas. _Your words, not mine Baldy._

                “I traveled to offer any help I can to save us all from certain doom,” Solas says.

                “And if we don’t meet that doom? What then,” you ask.

                Ignoring my questions Solas says to Cassandra, “Even though your captive is a mage, I find it difficult to believe any mage could have caused all this damage. This magic is not like anything I have anything I have ever seen. It would be a shame to execute someone for a crime they did not commit.”

_Thanks for the vote of confidence._ “So what do we do now Seeker?”

                “We move for the forward camp, and hope the Maker will preserve us all,” she says.


	5. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                You weren’t sure if you would ever get used to looting corpses, but you put mind over matter when Varric turned to you and said.

                “What Snowy? You don’t want a new staff just because it’s got a little blood on it?”

                _Time to woman-up._ Despite your trepidation you reached passed the mangled limbs of the mage you lay before you. It dawned on you that you had been pretty luck so far. Well, lucky with the help of Cassandra anyway. You are pretty excited to have a full party now, by the game’s standards anyway. _Will I be allowed to take more than just three people with me?_ Despite your fear at being discovered as an otherworlder, you know it would be helpful to have an actual  trained mage. Varric and Bianca would be useful too, but you know he has a quick mind. _What is it that he had told your Inquisitor to do?_ Resisting the urge to vomit yet again, you attempt to wash the blood off your staff with snow. You chuckle to yourself as you have a passing thought about wands in Harry Potter, and you find yourself infinitely grateful that all you have to do is wave a large stick around like a barbarian instead of performing actual incantations. _Well, not really like a barbarian._ Although you have some skills with baton twirling, the staff is far larger and heavier than anything you’d ever used before.

                “Is there something particularly funny about your staff Prisoner,” Cassandra asked. _I just said my name was Gloria._

                “No ma’am. Nothing,” you reply biting your tongue taking the time to remind yourself that she did take a long time to warm up to your Herald as well, no matter how diplomatic she had been. Dropping the snow to the ground you motion to your group to move out. You can’t wait until the Iron Bull shows up because you really liked his sense of humor. _On second thought, maybe not._ Bull is Ben-Hassrath and it would not be ideal if he figured out your little secret. You’d have to come up with a really good, solid story to make sure that no one would question and you could remember.

                Varric and Solas are updating Cassandra about the situation in the valley, so you figure now is as good a time as any. You try to search your memory banks and for information about the inquisitor. You could really only remember information about the Dalish one because your last play through had been with Lavellan the only mage Inquisitor you’d ever played. But, the play through you considered to be your cannon had been a human archer and if you remember correctly, the human Inquisitor was from Ostwick. Setting that aside they were also a member of the noble house Trevelyan, which meant they were circle trained. _Crap, I am supposed to be a fully trained mage who has survived a harrowing_. Since you don’t really know much else about the human inquisitor because you had only played one once them you decide it would be better to claim memory loss then try to lie your way through this one. _Yeah, right. They’ll believe that._ Right now it is the best you have, so yet again, you decide to remain quiet. For once, you are able to finish your thoughts and manage to hear Solas say, “…We knew we had to help the Prisoner—that is Gloria—get to the breach but that is when we saw the rift.”

                Since you were inexplicably at the front of the group, you didn’t even have time to utter thanks instead all that came out of your mouth was, “Demons!” You reached up to remove your newly acquired staff, and to your surprise fire came from it when you swung it in a wide arc. Belatedly, you realize that the snow had melted on contact with the staff and that your hands had never been cold while holding it. Perhaps all you have to do pay attention and listen to your instincts. Then, you have a thought and you think you can remember most of the cinematics for the spells in Dragon Age: 2. _I know it’s not instincts but what if it works._ So you sweep one hand in front of you then, immediately after, lift your hands and staff in the air. Just as you expected, a fire storm comes raining down on the demons in front of you. However, what you didn’t expect was the immediate weakness which followed. _Shit I don’t feel well, too much too soon._ You scold yourself for not remembering mana reserves and stick to basic attacks for the rest of the fight hoping no one is suspicious about how weak you feel.

                If they are no one says anything, but Solas comes up and hands you something in a blue vial. _No, the vial isn’t blue, that’s the liquid._ “It seems you may be needing this. After all, there are demons around.” _Lyrium._

                “Thanks, it seems I don’t have any on me,” you try to retort but only end up wheezing. _Smooth Gloria._

                Your less than charismatic response doesn’t really matter though—you had remembered your disappointment when you’d found out you couldn’t even flirt with the elf as a human. You had found out the hard way because you tried to stay away from spoilers and you had done well. Too well for your current predicament. As your cheeks color red from embarrassment you down the liquid. It is surprisingly smooth and it feels as though you just pumped yourself full of caffeine—minus the jitters.

                “We must get moving if we are to make it to the forward camp while anyone still lives,” Solas responds with only a whisper of a smile to indicate he was amused. _Hardy-har let’s laugh at my pain why don’t we._

                Your annoyance dissipates once you realize that you are in the middle of what used to be a town. The destruction is incredible. The building immediately in front of you is on fire, and you turn to survey the rest of what remains of the buildings finding only one intact.

                “Yes, the damage is terrible,” you hear the Seeker say over your shoulder, “Many innocent lives have been lost.”

                You feel the need to defend yourself against what you perceive as a shrouded accusation, “I could not have… I didn’t… It wasn’t me.” You finally settle on.

                The one “spoiler” you would allow yourself was watching the creators of Inquisition play the first part of the game—you had been too excited to pass it up. You watched it many times and you knew all too well that there was some loot to be had if you continued past the burning house and up the hill. Turning away from the tragedy which lay before you, turn toward the hill. _I want every advantage possible._

                “Uh, other way Snowy,” you hear Varric protest.

                “Yes, I believe Master Tethras is correct. The fighting is in the other direction,” Solas agrees.

                Quickly, you think up an excuse. “I just want to see if anyone has survived.”

                Climbing the hill doesn’t prove to be too difficult, but the demons and the top throw you for a loop. _How could I have forgotten they were there?_ While Cassandra is busy with the largest of the three demons, you, Varric, and Solas are left to dispatch the others. You stick to the two spells you know won’t put you on your ass, and as you try to take the shades out one keeps advancing on you. Both Solas and Varric are mobile, but you on the other hand have not yet mastered the art of moving and casting at the same time. One of the shades keeps advancing on you and try to fight it off with your staff, but its clawed fingers manage to rake your arm. Immediately warm blood comes oozing out of your wound, staining your sleeve red. Instinctively, you turn and run, but the shade pursues you until you hear a cracking noise. When you turn, you see the shade ready to strike, but you lift your staff and smack it with the blade. It shatters. _What the hell?_

                “Some mage you are Snowy. You have to hit the demons with your staff rather than set them on fire,” you hear Varric chuckle. Again, you remind yourself to hold back. _But I don’t want to seem like a pushover so…_

                “Yeah, well, not all of us are used to battle,” you throw right back trying to keep your tone playful.

                “Truly! You are Dalish, but you are not used to battle. Tell me—how is it then you find yourself so far from your clan? Peace? I have journeyed to many places and have encountered your people often. Each time I was attacked only because of superstition,” Solas spits at you.

 _I’m… I’m… I’M WHAT?_ Your hands fly to your ears, and sure enough the tips are pointed. _Why didn’t I check before?_ You had no reason to think that anything else but your hair and clothes had been changed. This was unexpected to say the least. You guess it makes about as much sense as anything else which has happened to you. _At least I know one more thing I guess._

                “Can’t you elves just play nice,” you hear Varric entreat and it brings you back to the moment.

                You really have to pull yourself together, even clutching your ears might have already given you away. But perhaps you can use this to your advantage, you just have to figure out how. _Yeah right—Thedas isn’t exactly the friendliest place for elves. I am supposed to be Dalish but I can hardly remember the most basic Elven._ You struggle to form a coherent thought and feel way out of your depth.  _Dear God he hates me. He doesn’t even know me. What a jerk!_ Before you say something stupid, you look to Cassandra, who willingly helps move you passed the situation.

                “We should move out. We have wasted enough time already—our troops could be in danger,” she asserts and begins to head back down the hill.

                Before you follow Cassandra you run the rest of the way up to the cave to retrieve your prize. _How fitting._ You grab the lifeward amulet and hurl it at Solas. “It seems you may be needing this. After all, there is a Dalish elf around,” you fume throwing his own words back at him.


	6. Silence is Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                As your group moves back to your intended path, you reason with yourself that this must be the very last play through you loaded. One of many in a desperate attempt to seek closure and actually finish the game. Your mind moves to your sister and you find yourself wishing she were here to make a joke about the situation. She’d probably say something like, “When you thought you had it figured out, life up and gave you cosmetic surgery. It’s just a little tweak here and there Glo! Don’t let it get you down.” _A little tweak._ You chuckle sardonically to yourself—go big or go home right? _I would rather go home._ Groaning, you wonder what kind of vallaslin you have on your face. _I hope it is a nice color, not neon green or Lyrium blue. I don’t think I could pull off Fenris’ look._ You don’t have much time to ponder your new visage because the painful addition to your hand illuminates, pops, and cracks all while sending streaks of pain shooting up your arm. _It matches the angry look in the sky._ Cassandra looks at you with pity.

  
                “I know it’s difficult but we must—” she says before you interrupt her.

  
                “Keep moving. Yeah, I know. I’ve got it. But the mark seems to have other plans,” you retort. _Cool off Gloria._

                “Let me have a look,” Solas commands. _Like hell._ You begin to back away with his previous condemnation of “your people” still fresh in your mind.

  
                “Don’t bother—I wouldn’t want to frighten you,” you say clutching your arm trying to stem the progression of the pain.

  
                “You know he kept the mark from killing you so far Snowy. You might as well let him have a look,” Varric tries to placate you after seeing the look on your face.

  
                After another particularly agonizing lightshow from your hand you say, “Fine. If it stops the pain I guess it is worth it.” You trudge over to Solas and shove your hand under his gaze trying to keep your pride intact. _The Dalish are super proud of their heritage, right? Right. I guess I have to be too._ You aren’t really sure how to act because you weren’t really expecting that reaction from Solas.

                He runs is hands over the mark and you can feel a cool sensation wash over it. While whatever he did seems to help, it doesn’t completely remove the pain. You frown up at him. “I theorize we must stabilize the breach before your hand will stabilize Prisoner,” he says matter-of-factly. _So it’s Prisoner again now is it? Fuck off._

                “Great insight. Thanks Solas. Truly helpful,” you drawl out the last word with sarcasm.

  
                “Sorry,” you grumble immediately, “I’m just in a lot of pain.” _Put a lid on it Glo. Mouthing off to anyone won’t make them warmup to you any faster._

  
                Varric comes to your rescue this time. He comes over to inspect your hand as well. “Damn thing looks terrible Snowy. Who in their right mind would do this to themselves? You are innocent, right?”

  
                 _Stick to the plan Glo._ “I don’t remember anything. I have no idea how all of this happened.”

  
                Chuckling softly he says, “Shoulda’ spun a story Snowy. Nonsense like that that will put you in situations like this every time.” _  
_

                Before you can respond Cassandra cuts in sharply, “No. You would have done that. What we need is the truth, not some fiction of your design.”

  
                “Undoubtedly it would have been more believable than this however,” Solas chimes in.

  
                “Yeah, and humans are always so willing to jump to executions,” Varric says smiling.

                Though you smile at their banter, you cannot help but be distracted. Timidly, you reach a hand toward your ear to investigate. You probably could have faked your way through Treveylan’s story, but you don’t know what to make of this. _Maybe it will just come to me._ Even though you have now found yourself in the shoes of an elf, you don’t think it is wise to add in what probably should be your two cents nor do you think contradicting the other elf and the dwarf would help.  Besides, with your status as “prisoner” you don’t really want to push your luck, so you opt to keep your mouth shut as you ascend the hill. _What luck?_ While you were thinking the group had fallen into silence. The Seeker is the first to break it. “When we get to the camp I hope Leliana made it there. Haven is crawling with monsters.”

                Varric reassures her, “I’m positive that she did: she is nothing if not resourceful.”

  
                “Regardless, we will be there soon,” Solas adds. _That’s pretty cold—seems to be a theme with this guy. Tell me again why I though he had been so appealing? Must have been the voice._

                Again, you choose to remain quiet. No sense in adding in your input when it is not needed. Besides, anything you have to say at this point could cause more suspicion to rest on your shoulders—even if what you would say would help allay Cassandra’s fears. Instead you think about Sasha’s voice and what you wouldn’t give to hear it again. _I hope she is okay and at home and not in some other strange place._ Pressing on up the hill you pass flaming debris which you think will brace you for what is to come, but the closer you get the more you doubt it. A bizarre smell fills your nose, only familiar to you from when you were discovered by the soldiers who promptly imprisoned you. It is a smell so repugnant to you that you want to turn and run the other direction. _If you are in a coma this would be a great time to wake up and shake this off Gloria._ Right before you turn to hightail it out of there you someone shouting, “Please someone! Help us! They just keep coming.” _A rift._

 

                More shades than you have seen yet surround you but you try to fend them off with the end of your staff which looks much like a scythe. Rather than attempt to cast anything you begin to swing at them like you are trying to cut down stalks of corn. But the shades are too quick for you and move just out of reach. Cassandra manages to taunt them while Varric is sticking arrows in them from the side. Suddenly, you feel a cool, reassuring aura blanket you and when you look down you see that your skin is gleaming. _Solas must have cast a barrier on me, I’ll have to learn that trick._ With the safety net of the barrier keeping you from being injured, you feel free to use a trick you remembered from the game. _If I can just connect the anchor to the rift it should mess with the demons._ Tentatively, you extend your left arm and try to replicate what Solas had done at the first rift. At first it doesn’t connect, but you wiggle your fingers and will it to connect and it does. _I feel a bit like Spiderman._ You actions essentially end the fighting, and Varric comes over and claps you on the shoulder.

                “Good job Snowy! Way to take them out. That mark on your hand really does wonders,” he exclaims. _Yeah, wonders._

  
                “Yes, you are quickly getting quite adept at closing these rifts,” Solas comments with his eyes never leaving your hand.

                To be honest, your trick worked better than you thought it would, but now there is more than a slight throbbing in your palm. _Something must be up with the breach._ You just want this to be over and done with, but you know you have a long way to go. As Cassandra is commanding the guards to open the door, you allow yourself to look at Solas out of the corner of your eye. Strangely, although Solas is chatting with Varric, his eyes have still never left your hand and his shoulders look extremely tense. _Probably just worried that I’ll die before I can actually stop it from raining demons._

 Once the soldiers finally open the door, you wonder if they were calling out to you for help or the litany of soldiers on the other side. _It seems as though they could have taken care of everything on their own. Aside from closing the rift that is_. Over the crashing of debris falling from the sky you can hear Leliana arguing with some man dressed in what look to be chantry robes. _For fucks sake, now I have to deal with this guy._ All it takes is one look for you to remember what a complete and total asshole Chancellor Roderick is to the Inquisitor almost the entire time they are in Haven. You zone out of the conversation for a while to think about how to deal with him. You don’t want to give too much away, but you also don’t want to be a push over. Thinking quickly you decide you want to deal with him straight away.

                 “Justinia is DEAD,” you hear Roderick yell, “We need a new divine so we can figure out what we are supposed to do with this criminal.”

                 “The least you could do is not talk about me as if I am not here,” you retort.

                 “What are you even doing here? Seeker, why would you bring the cause of this destruction back here,” he hollers pushing past you.

                 Cassandra fires back, “Because the prisoner is our best hope for fixing it. We must seal the breach and the fast way is the most direct path.”

                 “Yes, but not the safest,” Leliana says rejoining the conversation, “you should take the mountain pass. Perhaps you can recover our lost squad while the remainder of our troops serve as a distraction.”

                 Roderick begins to object, “No, no, no! You are putting all of our lives at risk—” But he is soon cut off by a large explosion in the breach which causes your hand to ache and light to shoot from it. Both Cassandra and Leliana to turn to you.

                 “What do you think we should do,” Cassandra asks. _Is she talking to me?_

                 “Why would you even bother asking me? It’s not like you will trust what I say. After all, you treat me like I am a criminal,” you say.

                 From your right you here, “Well, you do have the mark. They cannot make you do anything you don’t wish to with it.” _Unlikely. All they would have to do is pull out a sword and if they asked me to jump I’d ask how high._

                 A little selfishly you say, “I think we should take the mountain pass. It is safer and it will give me a chance to save some soldiers as well as clear my name. Please let’s try to work together so we can get this done quickly with minimal death.”  _Then maybe I can get back to where I am supposed to be._

                 Roderick scoffs, “To be expected, this prisoner only cares for herself. Remember Seeker, it was your choice to listen to a criminal. If you survive this I want you to remember you reap what you sow.”

                 “Right back at cha,” you taunt back in a sing-song manner before you can clamp your mouth shut. Your comment has Varric instantly in stitches and you see a tiny smile form on the Seekers mouth. The risk is almost worth the look on Roderick’s face. _Almost, learn to zip it Glo!_


	7. The Path You Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                Despite disagreeing with you that you should take the mountain pass Cassandra accompanies you, but she does make you take the lead. To say the least, the wind is bracing and it feels as though the words are frozen in your chest so it doesn’t surprise you that none of you really feel like talking. Just before you reach the entrance you have half a mind to ask Solas if there is anything he can do to make it a little warmer. But, you think better of it remembering that you are a mage, a Dalish mage who should have already been trained to become a Keeper at that, and you should probably be aware of how to warm yourself if there is a way to do so. Finally, as you reach what you thought would be the opening of the mountain pass, all you can see are ladders.   _Great._ You almost regret your decision to take the pass when you realize how many ladders there because you know you have no upper body strength. _Hopefully more ladders means less demons._

                “The tunnels should be up ahead once we climb up to the entrance of the mining shaft,” you hear Cassandra shout at you over the wind.

                “Great! I guess that means we’ll get out of this freezing cold right,” you holler back.

                Varric answers you, “As long as we are this deep into the mountains you’ll never get out of the freezing cold. Solas, can you warm us up a bit?” _Thank God he said it and not me._

                You cannot hear Solas respond, but suddenly you aren’t so cold. _Magic is freaking amazing._ At first it feels as though you are drinking a warm cup of hot cocoa, but then you feel the warmth spreading. It reaches your fingers and toes once you ascend the last ladder before the mouth of the first tunnel. _Another trick I should try to learn from him._ When Solas reaches the opening as well, you incline your head in thanks, but in return he displays only apathy. _He is seriously so snotty, but he did at least warm it up a bit._ You really would like to thank him and seeing his response, or lack thereof, you opt for a more straightforward approach.

                “Thank you Solas. I appreciate it,” you say as the two of you wait for the rest of your party to reach the top of the ladder.

                Shrugging he says, “Appreciate what?”

                You are not in the mood to play his game so it is your turn to pretend you didn’t hear his question. After all, turn around is fair play.

                “Do you think there will be demons in there,” you ask Varric when he finally reaches the top.

                “Only if we’re really lucky Snowy. Only if we’re really lucky,” he cynically laughs.

                “Well, we’ve had so much of it all ready,” you chuckle back, “could it really get much worse?”

                “I wouldn’t tempt fate Prisoner,” Cassandra says clambering over the last rung, “Now, if you two are quite finished I would like to proceed.”

                “Also, if you recall, there are missing soldiers in there and whatever has detained them is unquestionably in there as well,” Solas says complacently.

                “Which unquestionably means demons,” you mutter.

                Sighing, you turn back toward the tunnels and start to make your way inside only to be greeted by a demon. It didn’t notice you at first, but it definitely noticed you try to make a hasty but ill-planned retreat and trip over Solas. The two of you hit the ground as mess of arms and legs. _Perfect, just perfect._ Luckily for you, Varric and Cassandra are excellent fighters and manage to distract the shade while the two of you disentangle yourselves. Unfortunately for you, you cannot seem to find your staff so you try to hide in what little cover the tunnel provides. From your hiding spot behind some columns, you get to examine just how graceful Solas is as he moves his staff to fight off the wraiths. From what you can gather, it seems as though his movements are inherently tied to the spell which he casts—which you had already figured out. Seeing him made you feel like your attempts to do magic had made an absolute mockery of it. You know there is something you are missing, but with the way Solas is acting there is no way you are going to ask him. _I just can ask Vivienne or Dorian._ Vivienne will probably attribute your lack of knowledge to lack of Circle training, so she would probably be insufferably smug. _Dorian it is then._

Your eyes shift over to Cassandra who fights beautifully in her own right as well, but she has a stronger more aggressive style to it. She is so certain in her movements and she moves with incredible speed. It is almost hypnotizing to watch her alternate between sword and shield, but the death blows are simply incredible. There is so much power behind each strike that you hope she will take the time out to do strength training with you. _I wonder if fighting style reflects the fighter’s personality._ Finally, your eyes glide over to Varric whose face is screwed up in concentration. You had seen him fight often in Dragon Age 2 through your computer screen, but it doesn’t compare to what you see in front of you now. He and Bianca are a force to be reckoned with—he is the epitome of death from afar. Honestly you are so impressed that he can fight in such small spaces without getting mortally wounded. Just as he gets cornered he vanishes right before your eyes. _Extraordinary, I hope that he can teach me that. Probably not, but it is worth a shot._ It isn’t until the fighting stops when you can find him again.

                “You really have no experience with this do you Snowy,” Varric says as he helps you to your feet again.

                “It would seem as though the Prisoner was not lying,” Solas says as he drops your staff by your feet, “However, I would request that you not take us down with you next time just to prove your point.”

                You chuckle a little bit, “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I am just not used to being around all of these demons. Perhaps you could give me some pointers about how to fight?”

                Solas stiffens, “Perhaps.”  _He is irritating with his non-answers._

                Ignoring Solas’ answer you say, “Varric, that disappearing act was amazing. I think that would be useful for me.”

Varric chuckles, “I am not so sure Snowy. You don’t seem to have the right training.”

“The prisoner doesn’t seem to have any training of merit,” Solas follows up. _So frustrating._

“So says the apostate. At least I—” you manage before you are interrupted.

Cassandra coughs, “Please, let’s move on. We can discuss your training later.” 

                “Right, but someone else should take the lead I think,” you mumble. _Where was I even going with that comment? At least I what? At least I have played a mage before. Cassandra is always saving me from myself._

                Cassandra is more than willing to take up the mantle and begins leading your group up the stairs and further into the mine shaft. You slip into silence trying to council yourself into keeping quiet. Even if this is just part of a game, everything here seems so real. _Is it though?_ The place is amazing—there are icicles the size of your body hanging from the ceiling and caverns so deep that you feel as though you would fall forever if you jumped. You try to pay attention to the beauty around you to take your mind of what is happening. But, your mind drifts back to the lost soldiers. _Is anyone in here actually real? Maybe I am just the lead character in someone else’s game?_ You try to brush the thought off. The only thing which really makes you put mind over matter is fighting, and you seem to be in luck. These tunnels are full of demons, and the deeper you go in the more there seems to be. Giving your most recent track record you decide to hang back and try to strike from afar as you had seen Varric do. You fire seems to do very well at sending the shades into a frenzy so you try to use it to do that. While the lightening seems to do very well with dispatching the wraiths. You pay close attention to your aim because you have reasoned that friendly fire would be off. Everything seems to be going so well: your group seems finally to be getting into sync.  _I think I am getting the hang of this._

                Confidently, you retake the lead from Cassandra as you are exiting the tunnel when you trip yet again over a something. You strike your head on the ice when you fall, so it takes you a minute to get over the pain and open your eyes. When you do, you find that you have landed face to face with one of the fallen. As you are staring into the eyes of a dead soldier you stifle a scream with your hands. Scuttling backward to get away from it, you end up backing into another unfortunate scout. When you stand you see that the exit is absolutely littered with corpses. It is enough to finally make you lose your breakfast. You try to calm yourself but your mother pops into your mind and tears start to stream down your cheeks. _They all look so real. This must be real._


	8. Flesh and Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.
> 
> \--Just as a note, this chapter does get a little graphic.

                “It would seem this is where the soldiers made there last stand,” you barely hear Solas say while you try to regain control of your stomach.

                “Yeah, it is unfortunate we found them this way. I had hoped…,” Varric fades out and you can hear the disappointment in his voice. Your mind is still reeling. While you had determined that you were here and real and that this wasn’t a dream, you hadn’t really taken the time to think about those around you. _There is no way these aren’t real beings. Those soldiers were people just like me._

                Emotions hit you with the force of a semi-truck and you find yourself on the ground with your head in your hands. You can see each and every mutilated body and the shear loss of life bears down on you. You feel like you can’t breathe but sobs are wrenched from your body as you cannot help but weep. Each of those people had been someone to somebody, but more than that they had been their own person with wants, dreams, and aspirations. They hadn’t planned on dying here, just like you hadn’t planned to be here. _It’s not fair._ You are crying for yourself and for them when you feel a hand on your back.

      “I am certain there were more scouts. This small of a party would not have been sent up here alone. We must keep moving if we would like to find them alive. There is still a chance we can save some of them,” Cassandra murmurs while rubbing small circles on your back.

 _I can’t do this._ With your thoughts roaring in your mind, you try to grasp on to anything. The comfort you find in Cassandra’s unexpected compassion and support helps to draw you back to the here and now instead of by your mother’s grave. It vaguely occurs to you that for the first time, you think Cassandra is starting to at least empathize with you and for the first time in a long time you don’t feel so alone. If the Seeker thinks it is possible there could be more people who you can help then you will do the best you can to save them. _I have to do this._ Although it takes pretty much all of the strength that you have left, you do the best you can to right yourself and stagger after her toward the breach.

                “You okay Snowy,” Varric asks coming up next to you. You cannot bring yourself to speak, so you just shrug. _No, I am not okay._ Seeming to understand that you need support he puts his hand on your back to steady you saying, “It’s fine that you’re not. I would be scared if you were.”

                “No one is safe as long as the breach remains unsealed,” Solas asserts as your group moves toward what you hope to be what's left of the scouts. Which is when you see another rift. _I hope the others made it past this rift._ But you don’t see anyone or anything save for the rift. Despair washes over you and you pick up the pace only to see a lanky demon burrow into the ground. _Are we too late?_ However, to your relief you can already hear others fighting, and in that instant all you want is to be closer to help them with the fighting. _If I can save them then maybe this will all mean something. They get saved in the real game too so why not now?_

Suddenly, you are propelled across the ground in a haze of what feels like frost. _Did I just fade step?_ The world whipped past you in an instant and you are at the rift—right in the thick of the demons fighting side-by-side with the now recovered scouts. You take all of your emotions out on the lanky demon. Slicing it repeatedly, tearing flesh from limbs as you do. The end of your staff has a very sharp scythe which you use to hack at the demon. You can feel the warm spray of its blood shower over you as the now headless demon begins to fall to the ground. Despite it clearly being dead you cannot bring yourself to stop and you strike at it over and over. _It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair._

“It’s done Snowy. It’s dead. You can quit now,” you can hear Varric saying as he calmly approaches you with his hands in the air. _Why is he acting like that?_ As you stop you see that there is nothing but what looks like freshly ground beef left of your adversary. From what you can see of yourself, you are covered in blood and viscera. _I really overdid it didn’t I?_

“Gloria, why don’t you seal the rift so no more get through,” Cassandra says speaking to you quietly while nearing you as you would a scared animal her hand never leaving her sword. _She thinks I am going to attack them too?_

“Guys, I’m fine. I just let my emotions get the best of me,” you say trying to convince them that you weren’t out for blood anymore. _What the hell just came over me?_

Once you finish sealing the rift the soldier who seems to be in charge of the fighting begins speaking with Cassandra. You cannot hear much of the conversation because Varric comes up to talk to you. Looking down at your hands you are disappointed in yourself and you pick up some snow to try to clean off the blood from your hands. However, your hands are trembling far too much to so you quickly ditch the idea. _Breathe in and out, you can do it Glo._

“You sure you are okay Snowy,” he asks me for second time.

This time you figure that you should answer honestly, “I wasn’t then but I am getting there now. I just really got caught up in the moment. You’re right about my training—I need more of it. I guess I just got scared we would lose what was left of the soldiers.”

“But you didn’t even use your magic this time. You just tore into them. If you need someone to talk to you can count on me. Us prisoners need to stick together,” he says smiling and nudges your arm.  _If only I could tell you everything._

Finally, you begin to feel normal again, “Yeah. Who would have thought sealing the breach would have been left to us criminals. Do you really think we can do it?”

                “You have had a lot of practice on the small ones Snowy. I just hope that you can close the big one. If you can’t then I don’t know who can,” he laughs.

                “I believe that she will succeed. After all, she has already shown promise,” Solas assures him.

                “Yeah, and she really doesn’t want to see the world burn,” you chime in again attempting to remove the blood from your hands.

                That’s when you hear Cassandra say, “It wasn’t my choice, but the prisoner’s. She wanted to come this way.”

                “So, it was you. You saved us. I cannot thank enough for saving our lives,” the solider says rushing toward you to grasp your hands.

                Although you had selfish chosen this path to save yourself from harm, you know that you would now choose it again regardless of the consequences. “Saving all of you was well worth any risk. I think we’ve chased the demons out of the tunnels, so you should be able to escape that way,” you say.

                “Yes, that would be for the best. Be sure to take the wounded with you,” Cassandra says.

                As the soldiers head toward the tunnels Varric turns to you and laughs, “We. Excuse me Snowy but weren’t you cowering in fear behind the pillars?”

                “It appears that she no longer need cower as the path before us seems to be clear of demons. Our priority is the breach. Let’s go seal it,” Solas advised.

                “Yes, let’s,” you echo, “It’s not going to get any smaller with us just standing here.”


	9. Out of the Frying Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                Behind you, you can hear Varric questioning Solas about the origins of the breach. You can tell that he is scared and you know that Solas essentially saved your life, but you cannot understand why Varric would talk to him like he is an authority on the matter. But you do have to concede that Solas knows a great deal more about the situation than anyone here. Since you are curious, you drop back next to Varric to be able to hear what they are talking about more clearly.

                “So stuff like this isn’t normal right? Once we fix this big one, another huge one won’t appear right,” Varric reasons.

                “Both the breach and the rifts are unusual, yes. However, if there is enough magic, then one may reason it could happen again. That said, I find it difficult to imagine anyone with the capabilities to replicate our current situation. Though I am uncertain how this was accomplished in the first place,” Solas replies.

                “If you had to guess though, what would you say happened,” you ask, “how did I end up with the worst beauty mark possible?” You look down at your hand. It is hard for you to think of much else but the pain because it just keeps increasing the closer you get to the breach.

                Pity, you see pity pass across Solas’ face. A look you are all too familiar with: it is not dissimilar from the look people gave you when they were at your mother’s funeral. “It seems as though it was an… unfortunate mistake,” Solas answers you with his blue-grey eyes piercing you. _It feels like he can see into my mind._

                “I don’t need your pity. What I need are answers,” you lament trying to shake the feeling that he has you 100% figured out.

                “I do not doubt that you would like answers. Right now, I am unable to provide them to you,” Solas admits with his eyes flicking to your hand, “I can tell you that your mark and the breach are indeed connected. If it remains unsealed, I believe you will perish.” _I can’t have that._

                You open your mouth but Cassandra cuts you off, “It would be best if we could get answers when we are no longer in immediate danger. Don’t you think Prisoner?”

_Clever way to remind me of where I stand._ “Yes ma’am,” you reply seeing no need to push your luck. Assuming you survive the upcoming events, you’ll have awhile to question Solas and others to your hearts content. 

                The four of you head down the hill and in the distance you can see enormous spires coming from the ground with crackles of green which are performing an intricate dance around them. You can also see a gleam of red in the distance. _Better be careful to avoid that lyrium: it really messes with people._ But, that is something you cannot say out loud—you wouldn’t know about it if you really were Lavellan. If you thought the breach looked scary from afar, up close the breach looks like nothing less than certain doom. You begin to shake. _What have you gotten yourself into Glo?_ Slowly but surely you make it passed the spikes and into what is left of the Temple of Scared Ashes. You almost slip into hysterics again when you see all of the bodies frozen with final looks of agony and despair on their faces. The smell reminds you of your abrupt appearance in Thedas and you ache for home. Quickly, you stuff you emotions away for later and keep moving toward the breach. _There is nothing that can be done for them now._

                Pointing, Cassandra murmurs, “You walked out of the fade over there. Our soldiers found you and you were muttering about some woman. Those who survived said they saw a woman help you from the fade.”

                “Do you honestly think anyone from the fade would have helped me if I had done this,” you say indicating to the destruction around you. _Plant the seeds in her mind._ You know it will be easier for her to accept your innocence once she sees the Divine, but you want to make sure that she doesn’t think you are involved based on what she sees.

                When you finally enter the clearing where the rift under the breach is located, the immense effort you will have to put in is very apparent to you. At a glance, you can tell that it is at least four stories off the ground. _How will I ever reach it?_ Just as you are pondering the impossibility of your task, Leliana rounds the corner. She and Cassandra momentarily debrief about the situation, and relief is apparent on Leliana’s face when she hears that you had recovered many of the scouts from the mountain pass. When they are done with the discussion Cassandra again focuses on you.

                “What exactly do you think I can do? Fly,” you laugh sardonically.

                “Now is the time to end this. If you are actually innocent you should help us now, you can save what remains of our forces and Haven. Are you ready,” she questions.

                “I’ll do my best. I… I don’t even know if I can reach it to close it,” you stammer.

                “You must. This was the first and therefore the key rift. We have the best chance at sealing the breach if we are able to fix it,” Solas asserts.

                “Well, explain to me how I can reach it then,” you exclaim, shocked by his clear confidence.

                Rolling her eyes Cassandra says, “We can find a safe way to reach it.”

“Safe, what about this seems safe,” you all but shout and then as if to prove your point, a voice comes booming out of nowhere as you begin to make your way down toward the rift, “Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

“Who was that? What was that,” Cassandra demands.

“The actual culprit who created this breach,” you mumble. _Corypheus._

“What was that Prisoner,” Solas asks sharply, “do you know who did this?”

_Yes._ “No,” you cough, “I just know it isn’t me.”

You know you cannot say too much lest it rouse suspicion, but you thought a plug of self-defense is to be expected of a prisoner and would go unnoticed. _Wrong._ You scold yourself for not remembering that Solas, Varric, and Cassandra really aren’t your friends. _Yet._ You know that you are getting close to your goal when you see red lyrium and it stops you dead in your tracks just as Varric shots a warning.

“Don’t touch that! What’s red lyrium doing here Seeker,” he asks panicked.

Trying your best not to get to close, you edge past the glowing red substance. You can feel it drawing you in, but you know what it did to Bartand so you know that you have to stay away. It is kind of beautiful in a horrifying way, and it feels like it is beginning to hypnotize you. Terrified, you tear your eyes away from it and focus on the spires around you while Cassandra and Varric talk about what they know it can do to you. Then without any goading, Solas gives what seems to be a valid enough reason for its presence to calm Varric some. _Typical._ It seems almost insignificant and you hadn’t noticed it, but now that you are focused strictly on the spires you see that each time the pulse happens in the spikes you can feel the mark hum with energy as well. _Interesting—maybe I could tell Solas later and get more information._ If you remember correctly, he loved it when your Inquisitor had asked questions.

Again, you hear Corypheus drone on about the sacrifice, but this time it is intermixed with the pleas of the Divine. You steel yourself for what is about to come as Cassandra recognizes the voice of her friend and revered religious leader. Just as you are approaching the ledge which is the last barrier between you and reaching the rift Leliana comes up behind you. She and Cassandra begin to strategize about the impending battle. You peer over the ledge and once more a “helpful hand” pushes you—this time however, you land on your feet. _Getting better Glo._

When you land a scene you are vaguely familiar with plays out in front of you. The Divine is bound by magic with Corypheus set to use her to meet his ends. Then you see what looks vaguely like you stumble into the wrong place at the wrong time. This is the one thing that the game over represented—you really cannot seem much of anything. Everything looks so ethereal and incredible. _Is that really how my voice sounds?_ You say as Corypheus demands your life. As the scene dissipates you here Solas say, “Incredible. Memories of what occurred here.”

Suddenly, Cassandra is in your face, “What did happen here? You were talking to the Most Holy! Explain what we are seeing.”

“I… I… I can’t. I don’t remember,” you remind her while backing away with your hands in the air.

“Regardless of what happened here, we must fix this rift. It seems to tenuously sealed which means we will have to reopen it. I fear this will attract attention from the other side,” Solas steps in. For once, you are grateful that he has added in his two cents because your interrogation is all but forgotten.

“Demons! Stand ready,” Cassandra barks at the soldiers. She then turns to you and nods.

_I guess that’s my queue._ You extend the mark toward the rift and once it connects you know you should yank it backwards but you also know there is a demon on the other side. Sensing your hesitation, Solas grabs your hand and flings it backward—releasing pride. He smoothly transitions into fighting the demon, but you are rooted to your spot. Horrified, you watch as the demon gathers a ball of energy in its hands and prepares to launch it at you. You are certain that it will hit you and brace yourself for impact. But, instead of lightning you feel yourself collide with metal and find yourself looking up at the rift. On top of you there is your sword happy guard.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

“Don’t mention it,” he says

You hear Varric shout at you, “This isn’t time for a nap Snowy. Do something about the demon’s defenses!”

While still on your back, you extend your hand toward the rift and it connects. Knowing full well what it will do, you yank back and you see demon come to its knees. _Good one Gloria._ The guard helps you up and then sprints back into the fray. Just as he leaves your side more shades come through the rift and you scramble to find your staff. _Why does this keep happening?_ Finally, your hand wraps around the wooden part of your staff and you when you stand you are still using your staff as support but you are able to swing your arm. Spikes of ice come from the ground impaling the shades, but the keep trying to reach at you seemingly unware of their new holey nature. The ice shatters and you barely feel as though you can stay afloat, but you keep fighting anyway. Rather than stay near the rift you fall back toward Leliana and the other archers for a reprieve. They do an excellent job at covering you while you catch your breath. Once that is accomplished, you too head right back into the middle of the fight. As you reenter a shade begins to attack you mercilessly. With one swipe it knocks you to the ground and slices your head. You are trying to block its strikes from hitting you, but you are largely unsuccessful. Blow after blow connects with you and you try to make yourself as small as possible. You stick out your hand and a feeble fireball manages to slow the shades attack, but it isn’t done with you.

_This is it. This is where I die._ You are certain you have failed, but then you see Solas. He is looking at you and the shade, but then you see his focus turn to the pride demon who is charging up another attack in his direction. _Goodbye Sash._ You ready yourself for a death blow, but instead feel the familiar, reassuring cold sweep over body protecting you from mortal damage. The shade’s inability to inflict damage on you gives you just enough time to charge it with your lightening attack until it falls to the ground dead. Once the shade is dispatched you limp over to Solas who is laying prostrate on the ground. Taking one of the potions that Cassandra gave you, you prop up his head and tip the liquid down his throat. It takes a few seconds, but soon Solas is up and fighting again urging you to connect with the rift to deal with the pride demon. Seeing how well it worked for him, you down some yourself and almost spit it out. _What did you expect? Pumpkin Juice._ Admittedly, you feel much better and you return to the fight.

The fight seems to go on forever, with your side seeming to have overcome the odds only to be pushed back into a deadlock. Just when you think the pride demon has been taken out it armors up again or more demons come from the rift. Wave after wave of enemies pour out of the rift. _There can’t be any more in the fade, they are all out here now!_  You could feel exhaustion gnawing at you as you continued to fight on. Finally, the pride demon falls and as you reach for the rift to seal it you can hear Cassandra shouting encouragement at you. Unlike the other rifts before it, this one feels like it is draining you. With your remaining strength you force yourself to remain standing until you know you and the people around you will be safe. When the mark disconnects from the rift you slip into unconsciousness—unable to hear the shouts of relief and celebration around you.


	10. At Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                _Too cold._ You open your eyes and all you see is wood—wooden walls, wooden ceilings, and wooden floors. It looks a little bland but at least it is something familiar. Although you know that you should get up and explore so you can confirm where you are, you are pretty confident that you are back in Haven. The room looks like the place where the Herald wakes up just after trying to seal the breach. You roll onto your side so you can get a better look at the rest of the cabin, but you immediately regret it. Your head feels as though someone has stuffed it full of cotton balls and your body like every bone had been broken and reset. _Everything hurts._ Through an open window you can hear the clambering of people and you can feel the cold breeze which had roused you from your sleep. _I gotta close that._ As you go to sit up an elven woman opens the door. She seems happy enough until she sees you halfway up. _Who is this again?_ The woman drops everything she is holding, and you can hear glass shattering.

                “Oh no! I am so sorry! Did I wake you? I didn’t know you’d be awake I swear. Adan told me to drop this off, so I... I… did. And I am so sorry. I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just… I just,” falling silent the elf stares at the ground. _Ah, it’s the elf who tells me to see Cassandra. I better act like I’ve got no idea what’s going on._ You know you can never overestimate how much characters you don’t really know could impact what happens from here on out. While they hadn’t served as more that background filler in the game, you know that here anyone could be anything. _Plus, I don’t know how the game ends._ All things considered though, you don’t think this elf really poses you any threat.

                Holding your head and trying to force yourself the rest of the way up you grumble, “It’s fine. You’re okay. If you could just—” But before you are able to finish your sentence the elf hits the floor. “— tell me where I am. Is this another prison?” _Why is she acting so strangely? We are both elves after all._

                “N-n-no my lady. I don’t believe so. You are back in Haven,” she says into the floor. _Oh, right I’m the “Herald of Andraste” now._

                “Back in Haven? Really? What happened,” you inquire trying to hide your amusement.

                “I don’t really know much my lady, I just your servant. But, they say you saved us from the breach,” she says peaking up at me but ducking her head as soon as we make eye contact.

                “Saved you? How,” you question the poor elf. Although you know what happened, you want to know what she knows so you can act accordingly. _I can’t get caught._

                “My lady, I only know what I’ve heard Solas say to Adan. He says that the breach has stopped growing,” she murmurs. _I guess that means I’ll have to get the scoop from Baldy._

                “Thank you for letting me know. Please get up… I’m sorry what’s your name,” you ask feeling a little bit like an ass for not asking sooner.

                “It’s Drina my lady,” she responds wearily rising to her feet.

                “How long have I been out of it Drina,” you ask Drina trying to stand but ultimately failing.

                “About three days my lady. You’re all anyone has talked about since the Seeker returned from the breach,” Drina excitedly relays to you as she helps you sit up and place your feet over the edge of the bed. However, she backs away quickly as though she realizes she’d done something she wasn’t supposed to.

                “Thank you again Drina. Do you know what I am supposed to do now? Do you know if there will be a trial,” you ask not really expecting her to answer. Slowly it occurs to you that now people will be thinking of you as the Herald of Andraste and all of what that will entail. _If they all drop to their knees like Drina this will be entirely too awkward._ You aren’t sure you are entirely comfortable with being a venerable icon, but you aren’t really certain if there is anything you can do about it anyway. _Besides, I am Dalish. They cannot really expect me to believe that I am representing a god which I am not really supposed to believe in can they?_

                “I’m not sure. After all, the breach is still in the sky and Lady Cassandra wanted to see you as soon as you woke up,” Drina says backing out the door.

                “Can you help me get to her,” you manage before she is gone completely figuring that the real Herald would have no idea how to get there.

                “Adan asked me to get some things for him, so I don’t think I should. But she is in the Chantry. Her exact words were 'at once',” Drina states matter-of-factly.

                “Drina,” you plead, “I don’t know how to get to the Chantry.” _Right, like I could miss that huge building on top of a hill._

                “If you get ready while I am gone I will do my best to be back to show you where to go,” she says.

                Before you can say thank you Drina is gone and you are left talking to air. Shuffling, you make your way over to the window to close it, but to your dismay you realize there is no glass in the frame. _Perfect_. Your only saving grace is the fact that there is what looks to be cowhide draped on either side. You yank it shut and shuffle over to the other window to do the same. Finally, with some privacy, you begin to examine your surroundings. They are pretty humble, but you do have a warm fire place and even a guitar of some kind. _Not that I know how to play._ Stooping, you clean up the glass that shattered when Drina was startled by you the best you can. Accidently, you cut open your palm. _Shit that hurts._ You are a little scared to see the mark on your hand but when you turn to examine it, you see that the mark on your hand looks relatively calm. What’s more, your hand does not hurt at all, minus the cut you’d just given yourself. You search the room for something you can wrap your hand in so you don’t bleed all over the fresh clothing you see laying over one of the chairs by the fire when you put it on. Funnily enough, the box which Drina dropped was full of fresh supplies. You pick it up and set it on the desk when you see a piece of paper.

                On that piece of paper you find notes about your condition. Adan, who you know to be the cranky herbalist or whatever seemed to have a very grim view of your condition from day one. The more you read of his notes, the more you realize he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. _Glad I am not the only one._ What really gets you is that it only has one line about what your mark could actually be and attributes the knowledge to a “mage” who you infer to be Solas. Furthermore, Adan seemed to want Templars to be near you at all times just in case “things went south.” _Like they haven’t already._

                Setting the note down and wrapping your hand, you reach for the clothing. You are slightly unnerved by the fact that you do not stink after three days of purportedly being in a coma. But you chalk it up to the fact that someone probably just cleaned you up and you are glad that you aren’t covered in blood and guts. _Nothing they wouldn’t do in a modern hospital._ All at once you remember the shade and almost dying.  Quickly you roll up your sleeves to look at the damage which is nearly nonexistent—all you have to show for your harrowing encounter are a few thin lines which don’t even look like they’ll scar. _Incredible._ Recounting the attack to yourself, you remember that Solas had been your saving grace at what could have been a great cost to himself. _Why would he do that?_

Shaking off the thoughts you try to focus on getting ready to see Cassandra. From what you remember, what comes next isn’t too comfortable. You change out of the pajamas they had you in. Right now, there is nothing you wouldn’t give to have a proper sports bra as you attempt to wrestle your boobs into a cloth which is more reminiscent of an ace bandage than anything else. Finally, you finagle your way into something which you think is mostly secure but to your disappointment find that your underwear look like they came straight out of a history book. Thankfully, the rest of your outfit isn’t so difficult to put on and just as you finish clasping the last hook you hear a tentative knock.

                “Come in,” you chime.

                Drina opens the door only slightly, “Please hurry up and come with me. I am certain the Seeker is anxious to see you.”

                You give one last sweeping look around the room hoping to see a mirror, but your search comes up fruitless. _I am sure my hair looks horrible._ You see many paintings and even a raven, but no mirror. It would give you peace of mind to look into one and see your face looking back. Sighing, you force your hair up into some kind of bun. _Mostly my face anyway—I wonder what else has changed._ Resigning yourself to find one elsewhere, you make your way toward the door.

                When you exit you find that Adan seemingly one his case and has stationed two Templars plus a regular guard around your home. _A prison by any other name._ “Are they here for me or for you,” you try to joke with Drina.

                Terrified Drina looks over at you, “I am sorry my lady but I think they are for you. I cannot imagine what I could have done.”

                “You’re right Drina,” the guard says and you can almost just place the voice, “we are here to protect the Herald.” _Riiight, protect._

                “Are you the one that drew your sword on me the day I went to save us from the breach,” you ask masking your irritation behind curiosity. _Hopefully._

                “Yes my lady. I am also the one who saved you from the pride demon if you recall,” he laughs in response.

                “I would have been just fine,” you mutter.

                “Sure you would have, and pigs will fly as well,” he retorts and belatedly adds, “my lady.”

                “I see I’ve moved from Prisoner to my lady,” you say, “perhaps you could move from guard to…”

                “Edmund,” he replies bowing his head.

                “Gloria,” you say inclining your own. _Should I curtsy? No. I won’t._

                You feel a tug on your sleeve and you turn to Drina who only says, “at once.”

                “Right, we should probably get going,” you say.

                As you turn to walk away you hear the unmistakable clank of armor and you turn around and throw your hands in the air.

                “I was asked to escort you my lady. For your protection,” Edmund says. You cannot see his face because it is obscured by his helmet but you heard the smile fall from his face. You frown and ask only one more question of your “companions.”

                “Drina, is this the most direct route to the chantry,” you ask feeling anxious.

                “Yes, of course my lady,” she responds.

                _So I am still a prisoner. Just a prisoner in fancy dress._ Trying to ignore the fact that regardless of the fact that you saved everyone from impending doom you are still being treated like a criminal, you make your way through a throng of people. Some of the whispers make it to your ears even though they are all keeping their distance. One of them gasps and whisper-shouts, “That’s the Herald of Andraste. The one sent to save us all.” Suddenly, you feel like a fish in a bowl. No, scratch that, you feel like a fish in an aquarium in a zoo with an elementary school visiting. _Please don’t tap the glass._

You aren’t sure how long you can take the way in which you a simultaneously treated as a blessing and a criminal, but you know that it is just how the people are explaining what happened. While playing the game you didn’t really grasp just how many people are in Haven. _I need to start planning now so that I can save them._ You don’t want to seem suspicious so you decide to try to speak to the others. _Isn’t there a path that Roderick knows about?_ The Chantry doors are flanked by sisters who are whispering about the Chancellor and you are tempted to stand there and listen. You hesitate outside the doors for a little longer than necessary to pick up some refreshers. It is worth it because you are reminded of how precarious your position truly is: while the people of Haven have begun to accept you, Orlais will be vastly different. Just as you are about to open the door to the Chantry, Edmund places his hand on the door.

                _Great._ “What is it Edmund,” you sigh turning to face him.

                “It’s just—you helped us. Even after Lady Cassandra chained you and treated you like a criminal you stopped the breach from spreading. I just—it’s hard to understand. You’re an elf and they say Andraste herself was guiding you. More than that, I thought that Seekers knew everything,” he hesitates. _It must suck to have your beliefs dragged through the dirt._

                “It’s not that complicated,” Drina pipes up, “it doesn’t matter that she’s an elf. She just wanted to do the right thing.” _Good on you Drina._

                “I don’t particularly believe in Andraste, but whoever helped me out of the fade—” you get out before Edmund interrupts you.

                “If you don’t believe it was Andraste, then who do you think it was,” he asks stepping closer to you.

                “Oh, leave her alone. She has to go talk to Lady Cassandra. I am sure she is anxious to see her,” Drina says while pushing Edmund’s hand from the door.

                You mouth her a thank you as you finally push open the doors and make your way inside the building. It is absolutely massive—not unlike any Catholic church of your youth but it makes your jaw drop nonetheless. It is dimly lit because there is no natural light coming into the building, so essentially the only source of light are candles and torches hanging from the walls. _I’d hate to have to light every single one of these._ When you get halfway down the hallway, you can hear Roderick seething so you decide to wait outside the door. After all, you don’t think anyone would blame you for wanting to do so.


	11. What was Old is New Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                “The prisoner, and she still is one make no mistake, needs to be taken to Val Royeaux and held there until there is a new Divine. Then she can be tried for her crimes at the Conclave and the damage she has caused,” he shouts. _My crimes, what crime? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time?_

                “You weren’t there Chancellor. You did not see what I saw when we reached the breach. The Most Holy—she was there, she called out to her for help. I saw Gloria go to her. She cannot be guilty,” Cassandra responds calmly. _She called me Gloria._

                “Ah, I may not have been at the breach then but I can still see it now in the sky. Your prisoner failed Seeker. The threat remains and she probably planned for you to see everything. Hoping she could trick you into letting her go,” he retorts. _He is giving me more power than I actually have._

                “You are blinded by your anger Chancellor. I have watched Gloria since she walked out of the fade. I do not believe all of this destruction is her doing,” Cassandra states pointedly.

                You hear a chair scratch against the ground and it makes you jump back from the door a few inches. “It really doesn’t matter what you do or don’t believe Seeker,” he sneers stressing the last word, “It is however your duty to serve the Chantry while it still stands. If your elf had it her way then the Chantry would have toppled to the ground.” _Seriously?_

                Another chair scratches against the stone, “You are mistaken Chancellor. It is not my duty to serve the Chantry but rather it is our duty to uphold its ideals and principles. Or have you forgotten,” Cassandra asks menacingly. You imagine him opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water and it gives you immense satisfaction. Not wanting to give him the opportunity to rebut Cassandra’s mic-drop moment, you burst through the door as though you had been in a rush.

                “You asked to see me Seeker,” you say as bashfully as you can trying wipe the smirk off your face but your eyes flick over to Roderick and you cannot help it.

                “Do you see now Seeker? The prisoner is not contrite in the slightest. Arrest her and remove her to the cells until she can be taken to Val Royeaux to answer for her crimes,” he shouts and some guards come clanking from just behind you. _Were they there the whole time?_

                When they grab your arms, Leliana speaks up and steps from the shadows, “Do you take your orders from a mere cleric—a bureaucrat?”

                Turning a shade of violet, an enraged Roderick shouts, “I demand that you remove this criminal from the Chantry.”

                “Disregard that and return to your posts. I will deal with the Chancellor,” Cassandra orders.

                The soldiers retreat and Roderick rounds on Cassandra, “You are very close to heresy Seeker. I would mind what I do next were I you.”

                “It is a good thing she is not you or else the breach would still be growing,” you scoff.

                “While the breach is more stable than before, it is still a threat and it cannot be ignored,” Cassandra cuts off Roderick before he can protest and gestures to you, “Gloria is our best chance to seal it and protect the people for good.”

                “We don’t know if she will even help us? What if this is all by the Prisoner’s design? She probably wants us to think we are safe so she can strike at us when we least expect it,” Roderick gripes. _He sounds like a toddler who isn’t getting his way._

                “Listen, I did what I could to seal the breach. Given the healers notes I found in my quarters I believe I am correct to assume that I almost died doing so. After all that, you still believe me to be a suspect,” you say through gritted teeth.

                “Yet you still live—which is more than I can say for many others,” Roderick spits in your face.

                “You mean that because I am alive I am still a suspect,” you laugh.

                “Exactly Prisoner and do not mock me. You are in a precarious position,” he hisses.

               “Then, by your own logic Chancellor you should imprison yourself. After all you too are still alive. A convenient result, no,” Leliana mocks from her new perch on one of the discarded chairs. Then she continues while she examines her gloves, “We face many enemies yet and the culprit had to be some Divine Justinia did not expect. It would seem to me that you fit the criteria better than Gloria.”

                “You twist my words Leliana,” he says as his face pales. _Serves you right._

                Leliana hops down from the chair and saunters toward him, “No, I just believe you are correct. It is likely that the true criminal survived the Conclave or at least has allies who yet live. You along with many others are suspects. I will not rest until they are uncovered.”

                Though his voice is still strong, Roderick backs into the wall as Leliana approaches him and he asks, “So you believe that the mark on the elf’s hand and the fact she survived are what? Mere coincidence?” In that moment, in Leliana’s eyes you see nothing: no emotion, no empathy, only a face seemingly made of stone. You are reminded about just how terrifying Leliana can be: she is no longer the bard from Origins but a hardened spymaster. You must remember to be very careful around her—she is no one to be trifled with. _I would not want to be in his shoes ever._

                “As I said before Chancellor, I heard the Divine call out to her for help. Most Holy would not have called out to someone responsible for whatever tragedy was befalling her. It truly seems that Gloria was in the incorrect place at just the right time. The Maker has not completely turned his back on us because she was sent to be the light in our darkest hour” Cassandra reiterates.

                “With all due respect Seeker, I am not a ‘chosen one.’ I am not anything special, and I am not even certain I believe in your Maker. But I am glad that you have changed your mind about me,” you say choosing your words carefully. _Not completely untrue and the fact that it jives with what a Dalish elf would say is fitting._

                “Regardless of your beliefs the breach remains clearly in the sky. We will need your help to close it,” Leliana counters and you might be mistaken but you think you see her eyes soften when they land on you.

                “Agreed. You might not believe it given how I treated you initially, but I was wrong and you were what we needed when we needed it. I believe now that you are the key to fixing what has happened here,” Cassandra says parroting Leliana’s stance.

                “The two of you don’t have the authority to do this,” Roderick steams.

                Cassandra’s only response is to turn her back and retrieve a book which she briefly shoves under his nose before letting it fall to the table with a satisfying thunk. “Can I assume you know what this is,” she asks.

                “A notice telling 'Ser Chancellor' he can shut it,” you say before you can stop yourself. It earns you a raised brow from both the right and left hand of the Divine. _Worth it._ You shrug at them.

                “A writ from the Divine,” Cassandra says turning away from you to face Roderick, “It grants me the authority to restore the Inquisition. An authority to return the world to its whole and an authority which I will exercise now: with or without your approval.”

                "I guess I wasn't wrong," you smirk at Roderick who looks close to bursting.  _Still worth it._

                “It is clear that we do not have approval from the Chantry—together we must stand against the chaos which threatens to consume our world. We are nowhere near ready and we cannot force you to join us but we need to act now and quickly by rebuilding the Inquisition of old,” Leliana says as Roderick storms out of the room nearly foaming at the mouth.

                You need some specifics. Although you remember in the game it seemed relatively easy to form the Inquisition, you know that in practice it will be much more difficult. To better understand what the two of them expect from you, you ask, “What was the Inquisition of old and how can we use a new one if it is so tightly linked to the Chantry?”

                Leliana puzzles at your question for a second before saying, “Previously, the Inquisition served to create order during the most tumultuous of times. Before even the Chantry existed. When they were no longer needed, they ended what they were and became what we know to be the Templars.”

                “Yes, but today’s Templars are drunk on their power. We need another force to help right the wrongs in this world. We cannot wait for the Chantry to fill the vacancy left by Divine Justinia. There are too many people who we have lost already, so we must continue on,” Cassandra adds. Her last sentence sounds so much like something you’d told Sasha about a week after your mother died. It hurts your heart to think of her alone, but you think know what you must do in order to see her again which is finish this the Inquisitor’s storyline in this game.

                “So we truly are alone,” you whisper pulling yourself back to Haven.

                Taking that as hesitation Leliana says, “You can refuse and leave this place, but know that while some think you are chosen to save us many still believe you to be a criminal like Chancellor Roderick. We cannot help you unless you are here with us—you will benefit from joining in our efforts to rebuild the Inquisition just as we will be stronger for having you. I assure you.”

                “It would seem that I am already involved because of the mark on my hand,” you begin, “and if you are truly trying to help those who need it who am I to refuse.”

                “That is our plan,” Leliana says as Cassandra extends her hand toward you. When you grab it, you know that there is no turning back now and you hope that you are one step closer to getting home to your sister.


	12. Not so Alone After All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.
> 
> \---  
> Sorry for the late update! I am currently traveling but I will update as often as I can.  
> \---

              The three of you, Leliana, Cassandra, and yourself are around the table where Cassandra had dropped the book. For a few terrifying moments, you fear that you will be unable to read what the book says and to your great embarrassment you cannot. _Crap! What do I do now? I need to say something. Right? Right._ It takes all of your courage to speak up. “Um, I fear that I will not be much help with scouring this book for information as I am unable to read it.”

              Unfazed by your admission Cassandra says, “Oh, I had forgotten that some Dalish were not educated about how to read the Common Tongue.” _Oh, that wasn’t so bad._

              “Perhaps one of you could help me out,” you propose, “I’m a pretty quick study.” It couldn’t hurt to know how to read in the long run—after all you don’t know how long you’ll be here. Maybe the Inquisitor will have some down time and you’ll actually get to read one of Varric’s books.

              “Perhaps you should go rest,” Leliana parrots, “today has been a pretty eventful day for you and I am sure you are still recovering.”

             You want to protest, but you know that it is true. You can feel pain radiating from deep in your muscles and it feels like your joints are made of metal. As you head out the door you think you hear Leliana mention the inquisition should have a person well versed in politics and people pleasing—because so far none of you quite fit the bill. _True_. She goes on to stress how useful it would be to have a designated ambassador who knows how to handle all of the different nations who will come knocking at your door. _If I hang around for a bit no one will notice._ In typical Leliana fashion you hear her blithely mention a friend of hers who she thinks will be perfect for the job. _Josie._ You also hear her mention a Templar she met a long time ago who had been in the thick of the fighting during both the fifth blight and the start of the mage rebellion who would be a perfect choice as a military leader. _Must be Cullen._ Suddenly, Leliana is leaning against the wall next to you and you jump back. _I hadn’t even heard her come up to me._ “I thought I told you to rest,” she says smiling with her mouth but not her eyes. You decide to get a move on. _Best not piss off the Spymaster._

              As you walk out the door you hear Roderick shouting, “They would have us all be heretics. Mark my words, if you follow the Seeker and this false Herald of Andraste you will find yourself in the void.”

              Roderick gets you so riled that you cannot contain yourself, you march over to him and say, “Right and without the Seeker and this false Herald, where would you be right now? Ass deep in demons—that’s where.”

              “Do you see the vulgarity this elf stoops to in an attempt to discredit me,” he says sanctimoniously to the small crowd which has gathered.

              “And he refuses to admit that doing nothing would have doomed us all. He would rather you all dead,” you fire back trying to find a friendly face in the crowd—your eyes fall on Seggrit. _So much for that thought._

              “Is that true,” Seggrit asks gruffly.

              “It most certainly is not. This elf simply believes that because some have elevated with her ill-gotten gains we will all follow like sheep to the slaughter,” Roderick laughs him off.

              “Any logical mind can see that I mean no harm,” you say defensively. _Logically, I shouldn’t even be here._

              “Logic,” he scoffs, “So your logic would have me believe that the Maker would choose an elf as a savior to his people. I think not.”

              You’ve had enough and so you turn to walk away. “See, even the prisoner cannot think of words to defend herself. Although she had much to say away from the ears of the righteous public.” _So, that’s how it is?_

              It feels like a bucket of cold water hits you when you hear some murmurs of agreement and someone even says, “No Maker of mine would have picked a savage elf to save me.” When you hear that you turn, and begin to stalk back to the crowd. _You’ve got to be joking? After everything I’ve done._ You aren’t sure what is going to happen, but you are sure it isn’t going to be pretty when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

              “It’s not worth it my lady,” Drina whispers, “Let’s see if we can get you something to eat.”

              You struggle against her hand, determine to finish what Roderick and the racist had started, but Drina is surprisingly strong and keeps you from mowing them down.

              “Reacting now would do nothing to prove them wrong. Besides, we still have Edmund as company,” fear mixed with determination flood her face as she pleads with you. _I’d forgotten about my shadow._

              “Fine. I’m hungry anyway,” you say when you see that Edmund is as sword-happy as ever with his hand hovering lightly over the hilt of his sword. _For my protection or theirs?_

              “Me too,” he chuckles hollowly, “starving as it were.”

              The three of you approach a big pot of food which is conveniently just out of earshot of the crowd and it doesn’t escape your notice that Edmund has placed himself between you and them. _Theirs. When was the last time I ate?_ Your stomach responds “too long” by grumbling so loudly that you see the quartermaster turn around. Behind you, you hear a hearty laugh, “I see you’re finally up Snowy. What took you so long?”

              “Varric, so glad to see you too,” you say rising and before you know it you’ve wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Quickly, you let go and mutter, “Sorry, it’s just so nice to see a friendly face. It’s been a rough day.”

              “No, it’s alright. I’d like to think we’re friends too,” he chuckles. _Good._

              “We are friends,” you smile, “no question.” _I hope._

              While the four of you eat, Varric recounts a comedic story about a game of Wicked Grace he had once played with Hawke and friends. It has you all in stitches. _He really knows how to lighten the mood doesn’t he._

              “So, when Daisy says, ‘I didn’t know the cards could do that. Did you Fenris?’ But he just pushes out his chair grumbling something about being tricked into playing with a ‘Damn Pirate’ again. And all Isabela has to say is, ‘I’m a not just a pirate gorgeous, I am a Captain. If you are going to insult me at least get it right.’ It took Hawke a week to stop the poor elf from brooding,” Varric ends the story.

              “That sounds like Fenris,” you say chuckling but then belatedly remember that you shouldn’t know that and follow up with, “at least what I heard about him from your stories.”

              “Oh, I didn’t know the Dalish were fans of my books,” Varric says raising a brow. _Shit._

              You try to laugh it off, “Actually, I can’t read but my Keeper thought it was important I understood the world I would be coming into. So, I hung around in the seediest of bars to hear about the Hero of Fereldan and the Champion of Kirkwall.” _Or at my computer in my apartment._ You wink for added effect.

              Varric chuckles, “Sounds like where you would hear about my books. Look, I’d love to chat but it’s getting late. I should probably hit the hay—you never know what tomorrow has in store. Maybe I’ll even teach you to read.” As Varric gets up to leave you cannot help but think he is not entirely convinced.

              “Trying to protect my honor I see,” you quip.

              “I don’t think I need to. It would seem many think you the chosen one,” Varric smirks.

              “Yeah, from zero to hero so quickly. But, I am pretty tired now that you mention it,” you yawn for emphasis.

              “I’ll accompany you back to your cabin my lady,” Edmund says while rising and offer you his hand.

              Pushing yourself up, “I don’t think that will be necessary. Drina will take me back. Plus, I would like to figure out where the facilities are and use them. I don’t think you’d be up to the task.”

              “Facilities,” Edmund asks frowning.

              “You know, where to wash up and stuff,” you explain rubbing the back of your neck with your hand, “I am really sore and I could use some time to freshen up.”

              “I can do that for you my lady,” Drina says taking your arm and leading you away from your guard and the storyteller.

              The two of you walk in silence for a while and when you arrive at your cabin Drina turns to you and asks, “Did you really want to use the facilities or did you want to slip your guard for a while?”

              “Can’t it be a bit of both,” you laugh.

              “Sure can,” she says leading you down the path toward the makeshift tavern until you come to a few buildings that you hadn’t remembered from the game. “This one is where we do all of our washing-up. Most of the time there is water in here and it seems like we are in luck tonight,” Drina explains.

              “If it isn’t too much trouble could you please get me some soap and something to dry with,” you ask.

              “I thought you’d never ask,” Drina chuckles, “I’ll just be one second.”

              While you wait for Drina to return, you look up at the quickly darkening sky. You cannot help but notice how bright and strong the breach still looks in the sky. You cannot believe that with all of the energy you expended already that it didn’t look anywhere near closed, although at least it wasn’t growing. When you were, younger Sasha had begged you to teach her all that you knew about the stars because she had just learned about the Underground Railroad and was fascinated by the topic. Fruitlessly, you search for the Big Dipper or something which was even remotely familiar. _Of course, it is not there._

              “Are you okay Gloria,” you hear and see Solas emerging from one of the buildings opposite this one.

              “Yeah, I am just caught up in my thoughts,” you reply.

              “Here you are my lady,” Drina says a little out of breath. _She must have really hurried to get these for me._

              “Thank you, Drina. Will I see you in the morning? I could really use a guide,” you say. You don’t really need one and you think that because of the game you will be pretty familiar with the layout anyway, but you don’t particularly want to deal with Edmund or the rest of the general public by yourself.

              Her face lights up, “Of course my lady.” With a slight curtsey toward you she excuses herself. _It’s like she didn’t even notice Solas._ When you look up to tell him goodnight, he isn’t there. Bewildered, you go into the bathhouse and find the most secluded tub. They aren’t much but they do look very appealing. You put the soap on the side of the tub for easy access. As you set your towel on the chair beside the tub you hear something clatter to the ground. Picking it up you really aren’t sure what it is, but upon closer inspection you notice it is a bottle. Once it is open it only takes you a few seconds to recognize the smell of lavender and it instantly makes you feel just a little more at home. You pour a little into the water and as you do you catch a glimpse of your face. For the first time in a long time you breathe a sigh of relief. Aside from the hair color, ears, and vallaslin you look like yourself. _I wonder which god this is meant to worship._ Finally, as you lower yourself in for a soak you pretend just for a little while that you are back in your apartment. Drina has helped you more than you think she’ll ever know and suddenly you feel a lot less lonely knowing that she will be around.


	13. What You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                After your bath you walk back to your cabin feeling very relaxed and after the day you had, you fall asleep almost instantly. For a split-second it feels as though you are falling through space or like you had one too many to drink so you close your eyes as hard as you can. When you open them, you see your apartment. Sunshine is streaming in from your window and you can hear a morning talk show coming from the T.V. _I’m home!_ You catch the smell of French toast in the air and saunter into the kitchen where you see Sasha standing over the griddle cooking.

               “Finally! You’re up. I can’t wait to chill with you today,” Sasha squeals.

               “What did we have planned,” you ask—it wasn’t unusual for Sasha just to appear in you apartment overnight, but it was weird to see her cooking. You see a little shimmer out of the corner of your eye.

               “We were going to head to an art expo and then walk around downtown for a while,” she says clapping her hands together, “You should go shower and get ready. Breakfast will be done when you are.”

               You cannot help but smile at your sister, you yawn and stretch your way down the small corridor toward the bathroom. While you are changing you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and what you see stops you cold. _No. No. Please, no. I was home._ Your hair is white as snow, your ears come to a definitive point, and your face is covered in tattoos. _A dream. That’s all this is—a dream._ You know all of the dangers dreaming in the fade can pose to a mage, but you just can’t help yourself. _Just for a few moments longer._ You step into the shower and let the water run over you. Even though you hadn’t been in Thedas for long, you missed the convenience and relaxation of your life back home already.

               “Gloria, it’s time to eat,” you hear “Sasha” shout from the other room. It is weird to hear her call you Gloria because it was something she normally didn’t call you that unless something was wrong.

               “Coming,” you shout back turning off the water. Even though it is a dream, you take the time to style your hair, do you makeup, and change into some clothes. All the while, you can’t help but notices a little sheen on everything that is just in the corner of your eye. Pushing the thought from your head, you prance back to the kitchen. _I need to know if she is a demon or just something else._

               “It smells good right,” “Sasha” says waving a plate under your nose.

               You laugh grabbing the plate and sitting at the table. “So an art expo huh? Strange because you hate expos Sash. Matter-of-fact, you hate cooking too. What’s gotten into you?”

               “Sasha’s” face glimmers and for a second you see purple, “Nothing Gloria. I just want to make you happy.”

_A demon then._ “What would make me happy would be being at home,” you glower.

               “But you are home, don’t you see,” it says waving its arm around the apartment.

               “No, I am not. This isn’t home and you aren’t Sasha,” you take a bite of the toast and stare into your sister’s eyes as the glamour fades.

               “Oh, you’re no fun,” Desire pouts.

               “Sadly, all of the fun has been sucked out of me,” you reply. _Keep your guard up Glo._

               “We were just going to have a little fun,” they smile, “and then I would have given you what you want.”

               “You can do that,” find yourself saying. _Come on Gloria be stronger than that._

               By now, your apartment has completely faded and all you are left with is a vague mist with shapes and nonsense. Suddenly you feel like a mouse under the gaze of a hungry cat. _Wake up Gloria._ You begin to try to force yourself awake.

               “Sure I can. For a small favor in return,” Desire silkily says as they sidle up to you.

               “Actually I am sure I can get what I want,” you practically screech jumping away from them.

               Desire starts to stalk toward you. They are actually very pretty and the way they walk is pure seduction. _Well duh._ What you really can’t wrap your mind around is the inexplicable purple fire which comes from their head and flows down their shoulders like a cascade of hair. _Get it together stupid. Wake up._ You back away.

               “If you were so confident you could fix this mess I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out so easily. Think of your sister, your home, and the simplicity of your life. I could give that to you. You just have to help me a little first,” Desire taunts.

               “Tempting, but—” you say.

               “Good,” Desire exclaims, “all you have to do is let me out of the fade and then I can do it for you. Bring me out of here with you.”

               “But no,” you continue, “no way. I won’t let you possess me. That will get me the opposite of what I want. That will get me dead.” _Wake up now._

               “You’re loss. We could have been good friends,” Desire cackles and circles around you.

               “Unlikely,” you laugh right back. _I guess I have to fight them off._

               With inhuman speed Desire seems to fly toward you and just as you lift your hands to fight back you feel yourself being shaken. Violently, you are pulled from the fade.

               “My lady,” someone is shouting in your face.

               Still unsure of where you are, you raise your hands and scuttle to the other side of the bed. You are soaked in sweat—so much for your bath. Slowly, you realize that it had been Edmund who had woken you. _Shit._

               “My lady, we heard you shout so I came in to make sure you were safe,” he says then his eyes wander and suddenly he turns, “I am so sorry my lady. I thought you may have been attacked. I’ll go so you can ready yourself for the day.”

               “It was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about but thank you Edmund,” you say to his retreating form. _Better not mention it to him._

               It doesn’t take you long to change into your armor because you realize you had neglected to change from the robe you’d worn back from the bathhouse. You also realize that you had just given Edmund a “free show” because during your first encounter with the fade you must have been flailing quite a bit because the robe had been undone. _Great._ At least your day cannot get any worse.

               You finger comb your hair as you get ready to leave the cabin. To your relief you see Drina talking to Edmund and she waves you over.

               “I heard what happened are you okay my lady,” she asks.

               “I was just relieving the battle that happened under the breach. It was terrifying. But I am fine now,” you lie.

               “It happens to the best of us my lady,” Edmund tries to reassure you. You aren’t sure because you still can’t tell where he is looking as his helmet obscures so much of his face but you think he isn’t making eye contact.

               “Sorry about that Edmund. Thanks again,” you mutter.

               “Not a problem my lady,” he replies.

               “Anyway, I figured you would like a hearty breakfast by a warm fire. Doesn’t that sound nice? Then we can swing by Adan’s and see if he can take a look at you,” Drina smiles, “follow me my lady.”

               The three of you walk in silence, minus the clanking of Edmunds armor. You are debating the intelligence of asking Solas about demons, dreams, and the fade as well as how to avoid them. _Could be worth it._ No need to alarm anyone and the last thing I need is for people to fear you will become an abomination so you decide to ask him under the pretense of gaining knowledge about the mark. You shudder recalling how real it all felt at first. For now, you just hope that it doesn’t happen again and decide not to think so much about how you want to go home right before sleeping. Smiling, you recognize that Drina is leading you toward the makeshift tavern and you are grateful that someone here is willing to help.


	14. The Day After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                When your group walks into the tavern the last thing you hear is, “It’s a shame. Now all there will be is blood—the mages and the Templars just can’t get along. Plus, everyone who wanted to talk is dead.” After that there is silence—all of the eyes in the building are on you and it makes you want to squirm.

                “There she is,” you hear a woman squeak, “why don’t you come and sit by the fire Herald?” She says leading you to the table. Not that you couldn’t have found it on your own: the tavern is tiny with hardly enough room for 20 people. _Or dwarves or elves but probably not qunari._

                Drina and you sit, but it doesn’t escape your notice that Edmund stands guard at the door and his gaze never seems to leave your table. _Great, I probably terrified him._

                “Now then,” the woman who sat you begins, “what’ll you start off with Herald?”

                “I’m not sure what you have to offer,” you say.

                “Oh, silly me,” she chuckles, “We have porridge, eggs, and some stew from last night if you are interested.”

                “I think I’ll have some eggs and porridge if that is okay ma’am,” you smile back.

                “Please, just call me Flissa. I’m not a ma’am to you Herald of Andraste,” she says inclining her head toward you.

                You wave your hands frantically in front of you, “No, no. Please call me Gloria. It would make me feel so much more comfortable.”

                “As you wish Herald Gloria,” Flissa smiles. _Not what I meant._

                Drina pipes up, “I would like the same if I could have it—with some tea.”

                “I didn’t know you had tea. If it isn’t too much trouble I would like some too,” you say. _I wonder if they have coffee_. Back home you had needed to be heavily caffeinated before you felt like you could start your day. Your co-workers had hated it when you would make the coffee because you made it too strong they said. One even went as far as to say that your coffee made their hair stand on end. You chuckle at the memory.

                “What’s that,” Drina asks.

                “Nothing,” you sigh, “just a memory.”

                “Do you want to talk about what happened this morning,” Drina asks while placing her hand on top of yours.

                “No,” you shake your head, “not particularly.” _What would I even say?_

                “Okay,” Drina nods seeming to understand your reluctance.

                “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself,” you say to fill the silence.

                “Yeah,” Drina brightens and she begins to recount her life story while the two of you eat your breakfast. She grew up in Denerim in the Elven alienage. Her mom had worked as a maid in the Royal Palace and her father had worked as an assistant to the cook there as well. She seemed to have had a good childhood, but she did remember the Fifth Blight and everything that had happened there. When she was old enough, her parents had wanted her to be able to live outside of an alienage. So, they saved enough money to get her away from Denerim.

                “Where did you want to go,” you interrupt.

                “Nowhere,” she laughed, “I wanted to stay right where I was, but my parents wouldn’t have it and the eventually forced me out. ‘We want you to see the world Drina.’ They said.”

                “Are you glad you left,” you ask sipping your tea.

                “I wasn’t at first. But then I found Leliana and her network,” she smiles.

                “You’re a spy,” you nearly spit your tea in her face. _Shit!_ _This isn't good..._

                “Dear Maker no,” she gasps, “I am too clumsy and nervous to do anything like that. Believe me, she tried to train me but none of it took.”

                “That’s right. You did drop a big case of medicine when you first met me,” you harass her a bit.

                Drina turns bright red, “Yes, I did. I didn’t think you’d remember that because you were so out of it.”

                “Oh, I remember,” you chuckle. _It is so nice to have someone to talk to but I'll have to be a little bit more careful around her._

                “Well, if you are quite finished with your tea,” Drina laughs as she scoots out her chair, “I think we should go meet up with Adan.”

                The two of you head out of the tavern followed by Edmund who walks a few paces behind. As the two of you approach Adan’s cabin you remember that this is where Solas is normally located in the game. You are in no mood to really talk to him right now or to deal with his generally pompous attitude. _I’ve had my fill of jerks for the next few days. Thank you very much Chancellor._ But you find that you had worried for no reason as he is not there. _I guess they have better things to do than just what around for me to come talk to them._

                When you open the door to Adan’s cabin you stumble right into an argument. “Seggrit asked me to tell you that there is no way that he could sell you any of the herbs he has for less than 8 bits a piece,” a young man stutters.

                “Then you can tell Seggrit that there is no way he’ll be making a profit like that off us. We’ll just have to gather our own,” Adan grumbles back.

                “It’s not my policy,” the young man mutters.

                Adan starts pushing him out of the door, “You can also tell Seggrit that he better hope he doesn’t need any help from the apothecary anytime soon—or else he could find that we don’t have the herbs we need.”

                “I’m sorr—” the young man gets out before Adan slams the door in his face.

                Adan turns and faces you, “you’ve managed to beat death more than most criminals I know.”

                “Yeah, I have a bad habit of coming back,” you laugh, “like mold.”  
                

                For a moment you think Adan is going to chew you out like he did to that poor man before you but instead he laughs, grouchily but it is a laugh, “Just don’t make it too much of a habit. I’m not a miracle worker. I don’t know how I managed to patch you up the first time after you staggered out of Maker-knows-where.”

                “Yeah, I saw the notes you left in my room. But I guess I am stronger than I look,” you nod.

                “You didn’t look so good for a long time there. I think the elf did most of the heavy lifting,” he grumbles.

                “Drina,” you question playing dumb.

                “No, not her. But she has been a helpful set of hands. I think his name is Solas or Solace or something like that,” he turns away from you toward one of his benches.

                “Thank you for helping me. But I guess none of us will ever be truly safe until the Breach is gone for good,” you incline your head.

                “You’re right Herald. But I don’t think I’ll have the supplies readily available to patch everyone up who comes through here,” he grouses. 

                “Surely the Seeker will get them to you,” you protest.

                “No, the Seeker hasn’t seen it to be a priority and the merchant Seggrit thinks it is an opportunity to make a bit of money if you couldn’t tell,” he angrily waves his hand at the door.

                “You really don’t seem like the type to be a healer,” you laugh.

                “If there is a type it isn’t me,” he agrees gruffly. 

                “Is there anything we can do to help Adan,” Drina joins the conversation.

                “You’re a sweetheart aren’t you Drina,” he smiles at her, “Yes, actually. Now that you are with the Herald, I think you could venture into the surrounding area to look for some herbs for my salves, potions, and some notes from my old master if you can find them.”

                “He must have been really important to you,” you try to console him. 

                “Yes, and he was one to something. I just know it,” he begins to blink rapidly.

                “The master apothecary was killed at the Conclave,” Drina explains.

                “I see,” you say even though you had already known that, “we will do our best to recover the notes for you.”

                You and Drina head toward the door where Edmund had been holding up the wall. _He’s been eerily quiet._ When you walk out the door you come face to face with the person you had least wanted to see: Solas. _Great_.

 

 

 


	15. Just a Turn of Phrase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                “I see that you have recovered well Herald,” Solas sidesteps to avoid the impending collision and you feel yourself falling and brace for impact. You manage to catch your fall, mostly. _At least I am not eating dirt._

                “My lady are you alright,” Edmund exclaims trying to help you up.

                “Yeah, I am fine,” you shrug.

                “You’ve only just recovered my lady,” Drina titters as she tries to help you to your feet.

                As you are attempting to knock some of the dirt off your clothes you look over at Solas who is still standing near the doorway, “Thanks.”

                “For what,” he tilts his head. _Nothing._

                “Everything if I am honest. I don’t think I would be alive without you,” you shrug.

                You are met with complete and utter silence. _Shit, what did I do now?_ You cannot help but wonder if you have pissed the stoic elf off again or just caught him off guard by being polite. Solas is an enigma which you cannot quite figure out. So you decide to let it be—at least for now.

Trying to make light of the awkward situation, you make a vague gesture, “We should really stop meeting like this.”

                “Yes, you are rather clumsy. Perhaps the Seeker or Master Tethras can teach you how to stay on your feet,” Solas turns and enters Adan’s cabin leaving you to stare at is retreating form.

                “Not really one for conversation is he my lady,” Drina laughs.

                “No, I suppose not,” you are trying to connect the Solas here to the Solas that you see in game but they don’t seem to be even in the same ballpark. _Perhaps things will get better once everyone is here._ But that will be a whole new barrel of monkeys. You still haven’t thought about what you’ll do when you meet the

                “We should probably head out if we want to make any progress today my lady,” Edmund points toward the forest, “I believe I heard about an abandoned cabin which is out this way.”

                “Please, would the both of you drop the “my lady” and call me Gloria,” you beg.

                “No, my lady, it wouldn’t be proper,” Drina smiles. _Right, we’ll try again later._

                “Fine what about you Eddie,” you tease.

                “I—uh—would prefer to—” he stutters

                “Call me Gloria! Perfect,” you interrupt, “Now, weren’t we headed into the woods to find the old healer’s cabin?”

                “I think I’ve seen one on the other side of the lake,” Drina smiles nudging Edmund’s arm.

                “Well, let’s get a move on shall we,” you laugh, “lead the way Lady Drina.”

                The three of you trudge along in comfortable silence and you begin to admire your surroundings. Haven really is very lovely. A little cold, but you’d always liked the snow. However, you hoped that it wouldn’t always be so chilly. All of the people milling about scared you a bit because that meant there would always be eyes on you—so you would have to always be on guard. The part of Haven surrounding the Chantry was pretty well fortified, but looking at the large logs which made up the fence caused you to wonder what would happen when it was attacked. _I hope I can save them_. You shake of the thought and try to figure out where everything is placed. It isn’t too far off from what was in the game aside from a few buildings. Overall, the accuracy was spot on—given what you remember. However, you aren’t sure how reliable your memory will be. _I just have to make it to the end._

                “What did you say Gl-Gloria,” you hear Edmund stumble over your name.

                “Huh, did I say something,” you ask, “I was just thinking about everything that has happened.”

                “You did my lady,” Drina looks back at you, “something about the end. What did it mean?”

_Crap._ “The end… I was thinking about the end… the end of,” you can’t think of a good filler.”

                “Yes, my lady, ‘the end’,” Drina prompts, “the make it to the end of what?”

                You laugh trying to shrug off the stumble, “the end of the day. It has just been a long couple of days and I am just trying to take it day by day.”

                “I’d say that’s a pretty good philosophy my Lady,” Drina hums.

                When you finally make it to the gates of Haven you had lost any sense of calm you had managed to attain. At least from what you remember there are only nugs to contend with in the woods so at least you three should be safe on that front. As you walk past the training ground you briefly wonder if you should bring another solider just in case—but Edmund should be more than capable of handling the wildlife. To be on the safe side you ask.

                “What kind of wildlife is around here anyway?”

                “You don’t know my lady,” Drina chuckles.

                “No Lady Drina, I don’t. I’m not from around here,” you laugh back.  _When will she notice that I am calling her Lady?_

                “That much is clear,” Edmund joins, “mostly just nugs.”

                “See reason Lysette,” you hear someone yell next to you. The volume makes Drina jump behind Edmund and you whip around to face the source.

                 “No, it just doesn’t mean anything anymore. We Templars are split and at each other’s throats. There is no reason to see Mattrin. We were supposed to protect the mages, but we cannot even stop fighting to do that,” the woman who you think must be Lysette laments.

                “You think that better than staying here with this heretic organization. This ‘Inquisition,’ nay these strangers who seem to have been nothing but trouble,” Mattrin fires back.

                “We should go my lady,” Drina whispers tugging your arm. _Hell no._

                “I just want hear what the people make of us,” you shake her off.

                When you continue eavesdropping you hear Lysette snap, “How quick you are to dismiss all the help they have given us. You wouldn’t been alive if it weren’t for these strangers.”

                “Saved my life,” Mattrin scoffs, “that elf probably planned this whole thing as a crazy bid for power.”

                You cannot contain yourself, “this elf would much rather not be involved in this at all. But it would seem the fates had other plans.”

                “She speaks of fates,” Mattrin sneers, “she doesn’t even acknowledge the will of the Maker.”

                “Couldn’t fate be the will of the Maker,” Lysette intercedes on your behalf.

                “You saw what happened at the Conclave Lysette! You know what she did. Even the Chancellor thinks she is guilty,” Mattrin seethes as he walks away.

                “What do you think happened at the Conclave,” you turn to Lysette very proud of yourself for not exploding at the mere mention of the Chancellor.

                “I do not know. My position kept me far from the fighting and although I resented it then I am grateful to be alive now,” she evades.

                “Uh huh. So you have no opinion on the matter,” you prod.

                “None of significance. All I know is that the Templars are not helping who they should be. Instead we are fighting with each other,” she quips.

                “Speaking of the Templars,” you lead, “I never had the chance to get to know of them. Can you tell me about them?”

                “ ‘Tis a shame you never knew of us before—we aren’t what we used to be. A thirst for power has turned us into a fragment of what we used to be and the Circles into a place of fear rather than a sanctuary. I wish it were different but there is little we can do,” Lysette shakes her head, “You could always ask someone else my lady Herald. I heard word that Commander Cullen would be arriving within the next few days.”

                “Thank you Lysette, but please call me Gloria,” you say, “Will you be rejoining the Templars?”

                “No, but I was only ever a recruit. I owe the Inquisition my life and that is not a debt which is easily repaid,” Lysette replies, “I am sorry Herald, but I have work to do. I must be going now.”

                “Are you satisfied now my lady,” Drina grumbles—her face looking a few shades lighter than it had been at the start of the conversation.

                “Yes, I am Lady Drina,” you say, “What do you have against the Templars?”

                “Nothing more than I have against regular soldiers I suppose,” she rubs the back of her neck and asks, “Why are you calling me ‘Lady Drina’? I am no lady.”

                “Well, I am no lady either,” you laugh, “It’s pretty awkward right?”

                “Yes, yes it is Gloria,” Drina struggles to call you by your name.

                “If you two ‘Ladies’ are quite finished I think we need to get back to our task,” Edmund groans.

                “Yes, my lord,” you curtsey, “lead the way Drina.”

                It doesn’t take the three of you too long to make your way into the woods and as you had suspected there were nothing but nugs to greet you. _Thank God!_ You take the opportunity away from too many prying eyes to stare up into the sky. For a while it feels like nothing, but soon it feels like you are falling—like you are at the downslope of a high rollercoaster. It is pulling you in and you feel like you can’t look away until Edmund’s voice.

                “It really is something isn’t it,” he stops and takes his helmet off so he can get a better look.

                “When I look at it I feel like—I feel weird,” you settle on something far less descriptive because you doubt they would know what a rollercoaster is.

                “Yeah, it frightens me too,” Drina chimes in. _Not what I meant._

                “I think of everyone I lost when I look at it,” Edmund sighs. For the first time you get a really good look at his face. He is quite handsome and generally unweathered and you can’t help but wonder if this is his first rodeo.

                “How did you find yourself with the Inquisition Edmund,” you try to satisfy your curiosity and take your mind off the task that is ahead of all of you.

                “The same way as all of us,” he mutters, “when the explosion destroyed the Conclave. I couldn’t help but fight.”

                “Yes, but why were you at the Conclave,” you press.

                “I am Edmund Eremon, youngest son of the Bann of the Waking Sea,” he clips putting his helmet back on, “I was here to report the outcome back to my family.”

                _Eremon… The Waking Sea… Sounds so familiar_. “So you really are Lord Eddie,” you laugh.

                “Yes, my lady Herald,” he says turning away from you, “we should continue looking for this cabin.”

                “Gloria,” you correct as you continue to follow Drina toward the cabin.

                “Of course,” you hear Edmund chuckle.

                _The woods are far denser here than in the game._ The three of you continue in silence until you stumble on a cabin. It looks pretty well kept from the outside, but you are shocked to find that it was generally empty on the inside.

                “Perhaps we should take a look around,” Drina suggests.

                “Yes, that is what we came out here for after all,” you heckle.

                Due to the sparseness inside the cabin it doesn’t take the three of you long to come across the old master’s notes.

                “Can either of you understand this,” Drina asks shoving the paper under your nose.

                “It’s Greek to me,” you shake your head.

                “It’s what to you,” Edmund questions your word choice as he comes to examine the paper, “I can read it, but it honestly sounds very droll.”

                 “It’s just an old saying that means I don’t understand,” you flush and head for the door, “we should get this back to Adan as soon as possible.”

                You’d let your guard down again and both of them had noticed. It seemed as though hiding yourself wouldn’t be as easy as you thought. Deciding you just need a break from people to clear your head, you set a pace fast enough that it is not quite comfortable to strike up a conversation and try to outrun your mistake.


	16. Heretical Tendencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                For the next few days you lay low and do small tasks to help out around Haven. Then in the evenings, you get Varric to teach you to read while you practice thinking before you speak—knowing full well that any slip around Varric, Cassandra, or Solas could be your last. However, you also are completely aware that you cannot simply just fall off the map so you decide to take baby steps. One of the first things you want to do is learn how to read and then maybe beg Solas to teach you elven. It seems basic, yet lacking knowledge in both of these departments could cost you a great deal. _This is a chance to get in good with Solas._ You know just how much he loved being asked questions when you’d played the game so you figure that you don’t have much to lose.

                You pass by a few people but you are so focused on your goal that it takes you a minute to realize through the clamor of the people around you that Cullen has arrived in Haven. Aside from Solas, he was someone you had been very interested in during your playthroughs—ever since Origins really. You decide to make a detour before asking Solas for lessons to chat with the Commander before continuing your trek to Solas’ cabin. Turning on your heel, you almost run right into some steel plated armor.

                “Gloria, where are you off to in such a rush,” you hear Edmund huff, “you know I am around for your protection.”

                “Oh, Sainted Guardian,” you bow, “how would I ever make it through the perils of Haven without you.”

                “Come on, Herald,” he stresses your title, “You know you aren’t supposed to leave without telling me.”

                “Aye, aye Lord Eddie,” you smirk, “I’ll be sure to tell you next time.” _I won’t._

                “Thank you,” he laughs, “where are we headed?”

                “I thought I might talk to the Commander,” you say.

                “That’s actually a pretty good idea Gloria,” Edmund smiles.

                “Yeah, I figured you might be getting rusty just following me around. So you could get some real training while we chat,” you tease.

                “I’ll have you know that I was very well trained back home,” he sulks.

                “The Waking Sea, right? I’ve never been. What’s it like,” you asked.

                “Just Waking Sea,” he corrects, “It’s a unique place near Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches. A few people strong enough call it home. My mother is Bann there—she is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. She lived through King Alistair’s ascension of to the throne!”

                “Your mom was there,” you gasp.

                “Yes ma’am,” he nods, “after the blight sent many refugees fleeing into our bannorn she came down to Denerim and happened to be present at the Landsmeet. She doesn’t really like to talk about it, but I do know she admires the Hero of Ferelden.”

                “What do you know of the Hero of Ferelden,” you ask attempting to figure out whether or not it the world you are in reflects the playthroughs you had done previously. _This might be my only chance._

                “As much as anyone I suppose,” Edmund shrugs, “What’s there to really know?”

                “I guess I just wanted to hear it from someone who had family there,” you try to look contrite, “Dalish don’t really travel close to the capital.”

                Edmund flushes and clears his throat, “Well, when my mother does talk about it, she says that Lady Cousland is a noble woman and there will always be amity between Highever and Waking Sea. Aside from that we know that she fought valiantly against a traitor and serves well as Queen—even if she is a rather absent one.”

                “Thanks Edmund. So, what kind of trouble did you get up to as a youngster in Waking Sea,” sensing that he must want to change the subject.

                As you begin to walk toward the Chantry, your attention gets divided when you hear, “I am so sorry about earlier agent, if I had known I never would have—I mean I’m sorry about—I just don’t know what got into me. Commander Cullen has set me straight.”

                “I certainly do know what got into you Scout Pellane, and you know that we cannot simply blame everything on rebel mages as you well know. We will deal with this later, for now just give me your report,” a very irate looking elf says to the scout.

                You linger on the steps to catch more of the conversation.

                “Is something wro—,” you clap your hand over Edmund’s mouth before he can finish his question.

                The scout continues, “Right, well, there have been mage attacks, we believe they have come from the rebel mages. Agent, how can you know that these mages did not cause the explosion at the Conclave and all the attacks when follow?”

                “Pellane, it was not just the Chantry and the Templars who lost people of great importance. It was the mages as well. How would these skirmishes benefit all mages,” the agent throws back.

                “I’m not sure…” Pellane fidgets.

                “Good, now you’re starting to think,” the agent coaches.

                “Who are you anyway,” Pellane demands, “I want to be sure that I give this report to the right person.”

                “I am Charter. Do keep your voice down Scout Pellane, your report isn’t meant for the general public,” she scolds and looks pointedly toward where you are standing.

                Taking that as your cue, you grab Edmund’s arm and tug him up the stairs behind you, “Have you ever met Agent Charter?”

                “No ma’am, but her reputation precedes her,” Edmund shudders.

                You begin to think about what it will actually mean to see the fighting at Redcliff and how people will view you as a Dalish mage, a heretic, being lauded as religious figure. A sister’s voice from near the Chantry pulls you from your reverie. Cassandra is standing outside of the Chantry, head tilted toward the sun, seemingly being pulled into a daydream from by the same chant that drew you from yours.

                “Lady Cassandra,” Edmund says almost shocked.

                “Yes,” she grunts without even opening her eyes.

                “We were going to see the Commander, is he in there,” you ask.

                At the sound of your voice she opens her eyes, “yes, I will accompany you. There are things which needs to be discussed.” She gives a curt nod to Edmund, effectively dismissing him. You almost feel bad about it, but are quickly dragged away from him and into the building.

                “Your hand—does it still trouble you,” she says taking wide steps down the Chantry.

                You think on it a while and of course it still troubles you, though not nearly as much as it did before you managed to reseal the Breach, “It’s fine—but there are times when it does still bother me. Thanks for asking Lady Cassandra.”

                “Hmmm,” she hums, “what’s important is that the Breach seems to have stabilized thanks to your efforts. Further, I was speaking with Solas and he seems hopeful that if we can get enough power into your mark a second attempt may seal it for good.”

                Remembering needing to get help from the mages or Templars you say, “Probably more power than we have.”

                Cassandra raises an eyebrow, “Yes, as much if not more power than what was used to open it.”

                “Sounds uncomfortable,” you mutter, “I assume you have a plan?”

                “You assume correctly,” she pauses to open the door for you and then fluidly continues, “May I present Commander Cullen who leads our forces, Lady Josephine Montilyet who leads our diplomatic endeavors, and Sister Leliana, as you well know, she is our spymaster.”

                “Yes, thank you Cassandra,” Leliana smirks, “as delicate as ever.”

_Let’s not be rude Gloria._ “A pleased to meet you,” you say as you inclined your head.

                “Before you arrived we were discussing the matter of sealing the breach for good,” Josephine informs you.

                Turing to Cullen Leliana asserts, “We have no choice but to go the rebel mages for help, you must see that they are the sensible option.”

                “No, this Breach is born of magic and the Templars would serve just as well to negate it,” he counters.

                “I disagree,” Cassandra sighs, “We should be putting magic into the mark. Not taking it away.”

                “Yes,” Josephine pipes up, “logic would say that taking away power, would take away the likelihood of removing the Breach from the sky.”

                “Of course that is the way it may seem, but powering up something we know so little about could serve to destroy as all. If the Templars suppress the Breach—” he begins but is soon cut off by Leliana.

                “That’s only conjecture,” she interrupts.

                “To the contrary, I was a Templar. Of the people in this room, I am the only one who knows what they are truly capable of,” he argues.

                “Both of these points remain moot, because no one will even speak to us yet. We have been denounced by the Chantry and I am afraid that you, Herald, have been called out specifically,” Josephine laments.

                “Of course they still believe I did it,” you scoff, “that was quick. What does it matter anyway?”

                “You underestimate the power of the Chantry,” Leliana chides.

                “Although some recognize you as the Herald of Andraste and those who remain have deemed that blasphemy and anyone who harbors you a heretic,” Josephine supplies.

                “As a Dalish elf, I was labeled a heretic long before this,” you groan, “how am I exactly the Herald of Andraste.”

                “People have seen the wonders you have done and believe the Andraste herself saved you from the destruction.”

                Leliana begins, “Even if we were to try to stem the spread of these rumors-”

                “Which we have not,” Cassandra interjects clearly upset about this. _Trouble in paradise?_

                “But even if we did, people would still talk about you regardless of what we try to do,” Leliana finishes pointedly.

                Sensing the tension Cullen attempts to joke, “That is quite the title, you have to admit. What do you think?”

                “I think it is disturbing and they couldn’t be more wrong,” you say thinking of your apartment and your sister.

                “I don’t think the Chantry would argue with you on that one,” he chuckles.

                “For the people you are a symbol of hope, but you are also a reminder of what has gone wrong,” Josephine says.

                _I don’t want to be the cause of any more pain._ “Ah, so I am the problem. Does that mean we could be attacked by the Chantry because I am here,” you question. 

                “All the Chantry has to attack us with are words, although they may bury us with them nonetheless,” Josephine says. _Was that supposed to be comforting?_

                “The Chancellor has had it out for me since he saw me on that Godforsaken bridge,” you shake your head.

                “Undoubtedly,” confirms Cassandra.

                “Since we cannot approach either faction, our options are severely limited,” Josephine begins to pace around the table.

                “I do know of someone who may be willing to help—Mother Giselle. She asked to speak directly to you and her help may provide us with what we need to turn the tide in our favor,” Leliana rocks on her heels.

                You remember her being kind and are very confident that this is not a scenario in which you could find yourself dead—or worse. “I will go see her as soon as possible,” you smile, “I think this could help us gain more influence here and allow us to forge passed the Hinterlands.” _Finally we are getting somewhere—maybe the endgame isn’t as far away as I thought._

                “You seem familiar with tactical design,” Leliana looks at you as though she could read you like a book.

                Trying not to squirm under her scrutiny, you hear Cassandra say, “We should work on other things while the Herald tries to accomplish this task.”

                “Yes,” Josephine agrees, “many hands make light work.”

                “Great, well,” you struggle to find your words, “I guess I’ll be going.”

                “My lady,” you hear their voices trail you as you leave the room which had begun to seem smaller and smaller.

                You scamper out of the Chantry and cling onto Edmund to try to regain some confidence even though you are certain that will not be the last you hear about your familiarity with "tactical design" from the Spymaster. “Let’s go find Solas,” you try to sound cheerful.

                “Solas,” Edmund muses, “when have you ever wanted to talk to him?”

                _Good question._


	17. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                The two of you chat a bit about inane things and just as make your way up the steps you see Solas’ cabin. _Just the elf I’ve been looking for._

                You turn to Edmund, “If it wouldn’t be much trouble I’d like to speak to Solas.”

                “No trouble at all,” he replies moving to follow you toward the cabin.

                “Um, I was thinking perhaps I could talk to him alone,” you shrug.

                “You know I am not supposed to leave you alone Gloria,” he frowns.

                “Yeah, yeah. For my protection,” you mutter, “but it couldn’t hurt if…”

                You are cut off by some clanging and clamoring coming from inside Adan’s cabin.

                “For the last time boy. You tell Seggrit he can charge reasonable prices or—,” Adan screams.

                “Sounds like someone else needs your protection more than me Edmund,” you chuckle.

                “Yeah, I’d better make sure that Adan doesn’t kill the poor boy,” Edmund sighs, “just make sure you are quick about it.”

                You know you had better take this rare chance to talk to Solas without your constant “companion.” It only takes a few steps to get to Solas’ cabin and you hesitate outside the door before knocking.

                “Come in,” you hear the familiar lilt of his voice and steel yourself to prepare for the encounter.

                “Ah, the chosen one—the Herald of Andraste—the blessed hero sent to save us all,” Solas all but spits in your direction.

                “Yup, just like the heroes of old. Riding valiantly into battle on a valiant steed. Courageously tripping all over the battlefield,” you decide to mock yourself in the hopes to get him to loosen up. Much to your surprise it actually works.

                 “If you are going for the heroes of old, I would suggest choosing a griffon,” he deadpans.

                “But those don’t exist,” you scoff, “and unlike those heroes, I did not choose this.”

                “No, I suppose you did not,” he concedes.

                “But someone has to seal the breach or we are all doomed,” you sigh.

                “A noble intention,” he replies, “one shared by many in this encampment. However, not all of them have been bestowed the power to do so. Tell me, what do you make of the mark on your hand?”

                “To be honest,” you hesitate, “I just want to know how it got here and how to get rid of it.” _Just like I want to know how I got here and how to get home._

                “Hmm,” Solas hums, “I am certain we will find out in time.”

                “Don't get me wrong. I am grateful that it is now more stable,” you turn your hand over to stare at it, “and even more grateful that the pain has almost stopped completely.”

                Nodding he approaches you and takes your hand in his to examine it, “In my journeys through the fade I have had the opportunity to see the birth and death of the dreams of ancient peoples as well as the clashes of the past in which many fought to seek those dreams. I’ve watched as spirits reenact these moments, both famous and forgotten. From each of these battles heroes arise, some unique and some the same. Every struggle has its hero, and I am curious what kind you will be.”

                You stand there shocked—you never expected him to get this close to you let alone touch you. Your face reddens, “What do you mean you have seen these thing?”

                “Any place which has memories strong enough to withstand the steady march of time has a story to tell if you are willing to search for it in the Fade,” he answers.

                “How,” you say feeling your heartbeat pickup all too aware of your hand in his.

                “Spirits are attracted to areas where strong emotions are tied to memories. At these places the press against the barrier of the fade—reaching out waiting for someone to find them and I do. It is possible to see memories which no one else alive has seen if you are patient enough to look for them,” he replies wistfully while running a finger along the seam of the mark.

                “So, what you are telling me is that you fall asleep anywhere and stay there for many hours finding these places,” you laugh trying not to focus on the delicate touch, “Isn’t it dangerous to do that?”

                Smiling back he says, “If you are careful, set wards, and leave foods most things will leave you in peace.”

                “How do you get so deep into the fade,” you shutter remembering your own experience with Desire, “isn’t also dangerous once you are inside.”

                “Yes, there are demons and I do not wish to simply become one of their tools, but mostly I feel sad when I see all that has been lost,” Solas frowns turning his attention back to your palm.

                “Well, regardless, I don’t think just anyone can do what you do,” you smile trying to keep the conversation cordial.

                “Thank you, but you would be correct incorrect your assumption,” he smirks, “but because it is not as flashy or dramatic as other fields many do not seek it. But I would not give up the feeling of rediscovering the oldest memories just to have a little more flair. At any rate, my question still stands.”

                 “I—I don’t know. At the very least, I hope to save as many as possible and get what I can back to a new normal,” you say shaking your head. _I can’t believe he remembered that._

                He drops your hand, “Again, a noble intention, but that will not be so easy.”

                “You would say that,” you say rubbing your hands together, the marked one still slightly warm from his grip.

                “You think I am mocking you,” he asks.

                “Kinda,” you shrug.  _Definitely._

                “Everyone is so cynical these days,” he sighs, “I still wish you luck in your endeavor.”

                “You don’t plan on sticking around to help,” you gasp with mock horror.

                “I will stay to see it happen,” he says bluntly, “at least for now.”

                “Where were you planning on going,” you ask baffled, “did I do something to offend you?” _You can’t lose Solas from the party can you?_

                “No, but do not forget that I am still an apostate mage,” he crosses his arms.

                “But so am I,” you start but he interrupts.

                “Unlike you I do not have the mark of a god to protect me from the Chantry forces which surround us,” he clips back.

                “But Cassandra,” you add only to be interrupted again.

                “Has only been accommodating, and given climate you must understand my hesitation,” he interjects.

                “Of course I do, but you can trust me and you came here to help. I couldn’t let them use that against you,” you protest.

                “Yes, but how would you stop them,” he counters.

                “However I had to,” you promise.

                Looking shocked he blurts, “Thank you.”

                You cough uncomfortably, “Yes well, it isn’t anything out of the ordinary either.”

                “I am sure you came here for a reason besides small talk,” Solas recovers.

                “Yes,” you nod, “I just came from a meeting with Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra where we were discussing whether we should seek the help from the mages or Templars.”

                “And you came to me because,” he queries.

                Cautiously, you say, “Because we need to go speak with a Chantry Mother in the Hinterlands before moving forward with either option, and I know we need a mage more skilled than myself to come along.”

                “Of course I will accompany you,” Solas smirks, “but for now I would like to review some notes I made on your mark to see if there is anything which can be done about the lingering discomfort.”

                “Thank you, Solas,” you breathe out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, “We should be leaving tomorrow in the morning. Before we leave I do have one more request to make of you, could you please teach me how to properly cast a barrier?”

                “A steep undertaking,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “but not an impossible one. Meet me by the lake around sunset.” _How romantic._

                When you walk outside you see Edmund leaning against the wall of Solas’ cabin. “Did everything go well,” he asks.

                “Yes, yes I think it did,” you chirp, “how did everything go on your end?”

                “At least the poor boy made it out with his life,” he laughs.

                “Well, crisis averted then,” you smile back, “let’s go find Drina so she can help get everything prepared tomorrow.”


	18. A Request Has Been Made of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                When the two of you finally find Drina around one of the fires not far from the Chantry, she looks a little worse for wear. “What’s going on,” you ask as you slowly approaching her and kneeling near her slumped silhouette to clasp her hands in yours.

                “Have either of you heard much about the refugees in the Hinterlands,” she hurriedly stands effectively shaking off your pitiful attempt to comfort her, “it seems that many have been left destitute because of the fighting which has erupted between the Templars and the mages. It is really disheartening to see how far we’ve fallen in such a short time since the chaos of the conclave.”

                “Yes, I’ve heard the same,” Edmund wanders over to the fire and holds his hands to the flames to warm them, “it has been hard for everyone in the surrounding area. If people didn’t lose their homes in the explosion they lost them to the Templars.”

                “At least from what I heard in my meeting with Cassandra and the others a Mother from the Chantry is there to help,” you do your best to console the clearly distressed Drina, but keep your distance from her and move to stand near Edmund.

                “I think food and water serve those in need far more than prayers to the Maker,” Drina grumbles as she shuffles toward the two of you like iron to a weak magnet, "being from an alienage, I think I would know."

                “Prayers can do more good than you are giving them credit for,” never lifting his eyes from the flames Edmund counters.

                “Right, and when exactly have words filled bellies?” Drina kicks dirt at the logs causing sparks to fly up and smoke to get into your eyes. _This could easily get out of hand._

                Aside from the plight of the poor, beleaguered people of the Hinterlands, you aren’t exactly sure what set Drina off. While you know that she is from an alienage and that she works for Leliana you know little to nothing about either of your companions. _I am a terrible friend._ The entire time Drina or Edmund had talked about themselves you had not really listened or you were too caught up trying not to be discovered that you’d failed to commit much to memory. Belatedly you realize that while you had been lost in thought that Drina had turned to Edmund fists clenched and knuckles white. Just as you see Edmund puff up his chest you interrupt, “Well, it is a good thing we are headed there tomorrow then isn’t it. Perhaps we can do something more tangible to ensure that people are getting fed. How does that sound?”

                “Tomorrow,” Drina hesitates long enough to relax and remember that she is among friends.

                “Yes tomorrow,” Edmund nods gruffly, while looking startling like a disgruntled bird.

                Stifling a laugh you link your arms in both of theirs, “We still have a lot of work to do before we can move out and help those in need. Care to join me while I gather supplies?”

                While the three of you collect items and pack them up in your cabin, you fill her in on what had happened when she was gone this morning. On the whole, Drina, not unlike yourself, is extremely surprised with just how amicable Solas was with you this morning. Not to mention she is completely shocked that “the bullheaded knight” would let you do anything alone. While she never outright expresses concern, you know that she is a little nervous when you mention your lack of training. Trying to distract her from the fact that you literally have none, you ask her about her morning.

                “Oh, nothing special. I was just giving a report to Charter,” she shrugs while wrapping up some blankets and linens.

                You had almost let yourself forget that Drina was a spy, but you know that you cannot ever forget that fact. _No Gloria, not even for a second._ Even if you wanted to be her friend you know you have to be on your toes. She had never really told you exactly what she did and you begin to wonder if she is hiding just as much as you. Quickly, you shake the thought away remembering how terrified she looked when walking into your room when you had first awoken in Haven. You resolve to be her friend as much as you think is safe, although to be honest you have no idea how safe that you are until you know more about her and what she does.

                “A report,” you try to ask nonchalantly while attempting to follow how Edmund was adeptly wrapping the herbs, “about what?”

                “Nothing really. The day-to-day routine we go through,” she smiles, “I told her how you were progressing with reading and that you were getting stronger each day.”

                “Hmm,” you turn this information over in your mind, “stronger?”

                “You know—because you almost died,” she laughs but then catches herself and chokes it back with a cough.

                “Twice,” you hear Edmund laugh from the stool where he is perched absentmindedly weaving together bundles of Elfroot.

                “It looks like we are going to need to get some more supplies before we finish up here,” you stand, surveying the items you had collected.

                Forlornly, Edmund slowly rises and gently places his bundles next to the crate of linens, “I guess that means we are headed to the Quartermaster.”

                As you are walking toward Quartermaster, you hear complaints about the Templars as well as counter arguments that the mages probably were the ones who created the Breach. You can't deny that it does look suspicious with everything that happened at the conclave, but you at least have the advantage of knowing it was actually Corypheus. It still troubles you that your time at Haven is limited and you know that the Hinterlands is the beginning of the end here. Your thoughts turn to the right hand of the Divine and how she would react if put in this situation. _She would save everyone._ While Cassandra and some others had seen the Divine’s last moments, you know that not even Varric would believe you that Corypheus is back until he sees it for himself. The master storyteller would peg you for a liar and turn you to the wolves without batting an eyelash. Telling Solas what you know is also absolutely out of the question because even though he has tolerated you up until now, you have no way to be sure where you stand with him—his cold and standoffish demeanor have only recently begun to thaw. You consider what it would be like to tell Drina and Edmund and the million ways both of them would react. _None of them good._ Before you know it, you find yourself in front of the Quartermaster surrounded by blankets. A man is giving them to the Quartermaster.

                “Seggrit said you could have these for free,” he says unloading more of them from his pack.

                “How unlike him.” The Quartermaster surveys the thread-worn blankets, plucking a particularly raggedy looking on from the fire and holding it to the light. You do not miss that you can see specks of light shining through the blanket onto her face as she does so. _Does Seggrit really think these would be of any real use?_

                “No, exactly like him,” the man watches her while wringing his hands, “he says that if people’s fingers are too stiff to reach into their pockets that they are less likely to give him their coin.” _Of course._

                You cannot help the sound of disgust that comes from your mouth, which simultaneously gets the attention of the Quartermaster as well as the poor man in front of her. When you catch her eyes you don’t see much of anything there. Her job must be a thankless one _._

                “Ah, are you the new runner,” she asks.

                “Not exactly,” you manage before she continues talking over you. From the corner of your eye, you watch the man bearing Seggrit’s “gift” of blankets face screws up like he is trying to connect the dots right before you see realization dawn on his face. Practically throwing the remaining blankets on the pile and scampers back away. _Am I that scary?_

                “Let me know if anyone gives you trouble and should anyone call you knife ear you let me know,” she continues not even acknowledging what you just said and furthermore she seems to be looking right through you.

                You can see rage flash over Drina’s features and as she opens her mouth to tell the Quartermaster exactly who you are Drina’s would-be-victim realizes for herself.

                “Oh,” she exclaims unenthusiastically, “you’re her.”

                “Yes,” Drina butts in, “she is _her_.”

                “Well, I’m Threnn, the Quartermaster. Though truthfully I don’t really feel like much of one given that we are running low on everything from elfroot to nugskin. Honestly, I am just trying to keep this place afloat. If you need anything, I can try to scrap it up for you. But I was actually planning on asking you to bring stuff back to Haven for me from the surrounding areas. I’ll have a requisitions officer follow your party to make sure you always know what we need and what you can get from the nearby areas to fill our orders. We are not really an army and we don’t really have the items we need to supply all of the people we have here, but maybe you can work on something with Harrit, the blacksmith, so that our troops can be properly outfitted,” she rattles off. _Jeeze, does this woman need to breathe?_

                “Nice to meet you Threnn,” you try to mask your irritation with kindness, “I’m Gloria. We were just stopping by to see if you had extra materials to make camp—blankets, pots, and pans. Stuff like that would be nice.” You shift uncomfortably next to Edmund who is clearly staring at Drina.

                “Sure, I suppose we could spare some of those things,” she looks what you assume to be an inventory sheet and bites the inside of her cheek, “but if you need anything special make sure you talk to me or one of my requisitions officers so that we can get it made for you as soon as possible.”

                “Thank you Threnn,” you reach out to pat her on the shoulder, “if you could have the camping supplies ready for our departure tomorrow we would be grateful.” _Kill ‘em with kindness._

                “Actually,” Drina pipes up, “if you could have it by this evening that would be better. We have a lot to get together.”

                “I don’t think I can do that,” Threnn hesitates, looking up to reveal a harried expression.

                “You could at least try,” Drina pushes forward and grabs the supply list clearly unimpressed with what she finds on it.

                “Hmm, I’ll try to put a rush on it, and I’ll send them looking for you Drina,” Threnn compromises snatching it back.

                “Farewell Threnn,” Drina taunts, turning on her heels without even acknowledging the Herculean effort that Threnn will have to make.

                “Maker go with you Drina and you as well Herald,” Threnn says hurriedly moving to get the order together.

                As the three of you walk away Edmund asks, “What was with you back there Drina?”

                “Yeah,” you add, “You've been on edge almost all day—I didn’t know you had those teeth. Not that I didn’t appreciate the effort.”

                “Threnn knew full well who you were,” Drina seethes, “I know she does because she directly helped Adan keep you alive. She was probably trying to get under your skin because she has a problem with authority.”

                “You think,” you laugh walking back toward your cabin.

                “I know,” she huffs outpacing you and Edmund back to the cabin. _Well that’s that then._

                “She’s not wrong,” Edmund muses, “I’ve seen the way she treats the Commander—Threnn is lucky he is such a patient man.”

                You and Edmund stroll and chat about nothing as you walk back toward the cabin nearly knocking over Drina as you round the corner, “Sorry.”

                Turning to see what had dumbfounded her, you find some elegant armor with large metal pauldrons and greaves. As you approach you see more of what you think is the Armor of the Dragon. It is impressive and imposing. _Entirely ridiculous._ Lying next to it you see an extraordinary staff glinting in the candle light.

                “It’s beautiful,” you murmur, running your hand along staff. You can feel the magic emanating from the object. “Do you know where it is from Drina?”

                “No, when I came into your cabin it was lying across the bed. I will go find out so you can thank them properly,” she backs out of the room but just before leaving she said, “You should probably go meet Solas like you had planned.”

                “Shit, Drina could you help me find my regular staff, it seems to have disappeared when this one arrived,” you turn realizing that only you and Edmund now stand in your cabin. _Odd._

                “Do you think—” you start but Edmund already has an excuse in the barrel about why he could not possibly help.

                “Absolutely not, I have to go check in with the Commander.”

                “What happened to, ‘I am here to protect you’ and ‘I must be around at all times’”

                “I do have other duties you know, it just so happens right now that they are not around you,” he smirks, sauntering out of the room leaving you to ponder whether you grab this new found beauty or are even more late to meet a probably already irate Solas. _Clearly one is more appealing than the other._

                Grabbing the staff you rush out of the cabin belatedly hearing Varric call out to you, “where are you headed Snowy?”

                “Solas is going to try to teach me how to properly place a barrier and hopefully cast some decent offensive spells.”

                “This I have got to see.” _Great, the last thing I need is an audience._

                “What,” you huff, taking the stairs three at a time trying to lose the dwarf.

                “Oh, come on Snowy,” he laughs not missing a beat, “you can’t fool me. I’ve already seen you in combat. I know that you made an effort but it was certainly lackluster.” _Ugh, he is surprisingly spry._

                “Can’t you just cut me a break,” you huff—the only one out of breath is you. _A terrible plan._

                “Not a chance,” you can hear the smile in his voice as you close in on the lake, but you come up short as your eyes are drawn up to the Breach. Even though you are well aware Varric is still talking you have become entranced by the way the green light from the Breach cascades from it to collide with the ice of the lake. When you are able to break your reverie you find that, incidentally, by staring at the lake you have also been staring Solas who just so happens to be smackdab in the middle of the ice.

                Without turning around Solas clasps his hands behind his back and rocks back on his heels, “Does sunset mean darkness to the Dalish?”


	19. Cold Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                “No,” you manage while trying to stay upright on the ice, but despite your best efforts it was nearly impossible.

                “Snowy, you look like a baby halla,” Varric calls from the shore. Clearly unwilling to make the fool of himself that you are willing to make of yourself. _All for the sake of knowledge._

                “Oh yeah,” you snort, “Why don’t you come join us?” Just as you had quip, your feet slip out from under you. _Well done._

                Howls of laughter erupt from the sideline and they bounce around the lake’s edge; it seems like nearly 100 Varrics were enjoying the spectacle. Dusting yourself off while attempting to ignore the peanut gallery, you continue to make your way to Solas. _God that smarts._ Finally, he turns, but makes no effort to help nor stabilize you as you continue to shuffle your way over. After what seems like a decade, you make it and use your staff to help hold you up while you look into his eyes.

                “Welcome Herald. Perhaps your first lesson should be about timeliness or a quieter approach—you sounded like a herd of druffalo.” _An entire herd?_

At your silence Solas quirks a brow and leans on his staff, “Ah, I see. You wished for me to teach you grace. Something you are known to be lacking.”

                _Enough with the insults already._ “Again, I am so sorry about being late. We got hung up gathering supplies for the trip tomorrow.” You gesture vaguely toward the cabin with your staff which catches his eye.

                He reaches out to touch it, “And this new staff was a part of your collection then?”

                “No, it would seem that someone gifted it to me.”

                “You don’t know who?” His hand immediately recoils from the staff as though it had burned him and he begins to walk in an effortless circle around you. _Is this man good at everything?_

                “No,” you shrug trying not to drop the staff yourself, “Drina found it on my bed.”

                “Fascinating,” he tilts his head, “are you not concerned that it could be meant to do you harm?”

                Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about it because you had just assumed that it was the Staff of the Dragon, but now you are not so sure. You hastily ask, “Do you think you could—I don’t know—check it or something?” _I must be the universe’s biggest idiot._

                “I do not see why not. But to do so you must place it on the ground first. Are you certain you can remain upright for long enough for me to examine the staff thoroughly?”

                It must be either your imagination or trick of the light, but you swear he is smirking at you. “Are you making fun of me Solas?”

                “I would not dream of it Herald.”

                “Uh huh.” Unconvinced, you set your staff on the ice and cautiously rise again—without falling. _Nailed it._

                Solas again begins circling the staff and his brow creases in concentration. Slowly, he raises his hands and you feel the air change slightly, as though there were a current running through it. He closes his eyes and you take the opportunity to look at him more closely. You wonder how he is comfortable in such seemingly thin clothes or how his feet haven’t frozen off yet seeing that they are only wrapped in fabric. You grimace, grateful that you had the option to wear more “human” clothes without blowing your cover given your status of spy at the conclave. However, you are surprised that no one has questioned that you never asked to return to Dalish clothing. Although, now that you think about it, isn’t exactly a bad thing for you. Besides, you could always blame your status as Herald/Inquisitor if anyone questions you later on. Suddenly, Solas’ tunic sways in the breeze and you notice that his pants are far tighter than you had previously thought. _What was I thinking again?_

                Shifting your gaze back to his hands, you try to determine whether or not magic is actually visible. To your shock, the more you focus on trying to see the magic come from his hands the more clearly you can see what looks like millions of pieces of frost caught in the air. They seem to be still, but at the same time they’re moving. The particles move as he does, reaching down and around the staff: some even seem to weave through the wood. It is strangely soothing, entrancing, and “Beautiful.”

                Solas snaps his attention to you, “I beg your pardon.”

                Your face flushes and you know you are as red as tomato. After all, you really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but since you had… “Your magic—the spell you were doing… It was—it was beautiful. I’m sorry I broke your concentration.”

                This time, you know it isn’t a figment of your imagination because a broad smile graces Solas’ face. “Yes, magic is a thing of beauty. Though few take the time to see that anymore. This should only take a few moments more.”

                Counseling yourself into silence, you wait for him to finish. When he opens his eyes again you ask, “Are we all clear?”

                He cocks his head to the side and you realize he doesn’t understand what you mean and immediately correct yourself. “Is the staff safe?”

                “Yes, and it seems to be quite well made. Be sure to take care of it.”

                Much to your surprise, Solas bends to pick up the staff and gracefully walks over to you. You begin to think that walking on ice isn’t as difficult as you thought based on how easy he makes it look—then you begin to walk to meet him halfway and you have to windmill your arms to regain some of your balance. Solas grabs one of your flailing appendages and smiles, “the trick is to take small, calculated steps. It would seem as though I picked a good place for us to practice.”

_That’s at least twice now._ “Why do you say that?”

                “Because part of your focus will be on staying upright and the other will be focused on the spell. This is not unlike battle, where you must focus on multiple things at once.” He seems quite pleased with himself as he begins to walk a distance away from you. “I would like to begin by reexamining where you are—place a barrier on me.”

                “Right now?” Your hands begin to sweat. _I am glad I haven’t eaten dinner yet._

                “Right now.”

                More than a little panicked, you take small steps to place yourself in what you think to be a better position cast the spell. Focusing on him and the area around him you concentrate on the outcome you want to have. _I want to shield him from damage._ You repeat that over and over to yourself, but nothing is happening.

                “Any time this age, Herald. You will not have time to think like this on the battlefield.”

                “It isn’t as though I am not trying, Solas.” Gritting your teeth you try something else. Before, when you were on your way to seal the Breach the first time, you had used your knowledge of what you thought spells had looked like in the games. Right now though, you are drawing a blank. Cursing under your breath you decide to just try something. You bring your hand to your head and imagine the runic looking circle of light and concentrate on wanting to form a barrier. You envision a bubble around Solas and feel something start to build within you—reaching from your mind to your hand. Instinctively, you throw your hand in Solas’ direction and you hear a low thumping noise. When you open your eyes you can see Solas’, but it looks as though you are looking at him through shifting glass. You also find that rather than a barrier shimmering around him, close to his skin like you had hoped, he is ensconced in what appears to be an actual bubble. _Damnit._

                You can hear Varric cackling from the sidelines. “Hey Chuckles! You look like you’re about to burst.”

                “Unfortunately not with pride Master Tethras,” he retorts while walking toward you.

                “I honestly tried Solas.” You do your best not to give into the urge to flee as he approaches you.

                Once he is close enough he asks, “What do you see?”

                You examine the large bubble and try to reach out, but he repeats his question and takes a few steps away. “I see a bubble around you. It wasn’t what I wanted but I—”

                He cuts off your explanation and comes closer, “what do you feel?”

                Again, you reach out, half expecting the bubble to pop and you are flabbergasted when it doesn’t. When you press your hand into it there is some give, but you have the feeling that it would take quite a bit of force to get inside. Tentatively you smile, “I kind of did it.”

                The bubble barrier you had placed on him shimmers from existence. “A perfect assessment I would say. For a mage such as myself this would work well, but for a warrior like Cassandra it would be ineffective because she would not be able to get close enough to her enemy to do any real damage because the barrier would repel them before she could. It would seem you have the basics, but you need to work on honing your skill.”

                “I see. What would you recommend I do?”

                “From just observing your external technique, it is apparent that you need to ground yourself more. Rather than holding your staff up from the ground throughout the spell, keep it down throughout the whole process of casting.”

                “Got it,” you being to place your feet a little wider so you are semi-squatting and firmly place your staff against the ice, “Like this?”

                “Essentially, yes. You also must be careful not to fling your magic, but send it from you in a solid stream—as I did when examining your staff. Throwing magic has it place when you are trying to deal damage, but you are not trying to hurt me. Are you ready to try again Herald?”

                “Yes, I believe that I am.” As you and Solas resume your positions, you realize that the fact you could have seriously hurt Solas never crossed your mind. _Selfishness at its finest Gloria._ This time you take all of his advice, attempt to put it into practice, and you all manage to make a smaller bubble. Earning you a laugh from Varric and a nod of encouragement from Solas.

                Intermittently Solas comes to give you advice about form and each time you make small improvements until you finally look up and see just Solas, standing there—shimmering. _Hell yeah!_ You feel like dancing and so you do—very carefully throwing your hands in the air and waving them. “Did you see that Solas? I did it!”

                “Yes, Herald,” he sighs as though talking with a small child, “be sure not to fall and injure yourself with your celebration.”

                You skate over to him and grab his upper arms, “Can you teach me more?”

                For the third time that evening he smiles, “what would you like to know?”

                “Anything.” You realize how close you had been to his face as he turns out of your grasp, leaving only a small puff of breath in his wake. You turn to watch him move away from you. _Get a grip Gloria._

                “As you wish Herald, let us do one of my specialties. But I must get something else for you to aim at.” He walks to shore and brings a crate back onto the frozen surface of the lake, placing it a small distance from you. When he finally returns to your side you are so excited that you can hardly stand it.

                “What’re you going to teach me?”

                “Watch.” Suddenly, there is an intense chill in the air and Solas twirls his staff in the air and brings it back to slam onto the ice. You had been so spellbound by Solas that you didn’t look away until his eyes caught yours and he nodded toward the crate. Although the light was almost gone from the sky, you could still see that the crate had been encased in ice.

                “How did you—” you mutter.

                “I’ll teach you how to properly cast this spell, but then we must head back to camp. I am sure we will have an early morning tomorrow.”

                “Even if I beg?”

                “Even if you beg,” Solas shakes his head before moving closer to your side. “Now, you’ll want to square your hips, but stagger your feet—like this.” He moves into a position that kind of looks like how a long distance runner might start a race. You follow suit. _Easy enough._

                “Does this look right to you?”

                “Yes, but keep your feet closer together so that you can be more grounded.”

                “Okay.” You shift your stance a little bit, but you are pretty positive you had it spot on the first time and that Solas had just wanted to correct something.

                “Next, you will need to twirl your staff like so, while stepping forward toward your target.” He demonstrates again without actually casting the spell. It looks vaguely similar to some of the things you used to do in high school when you used to twirl your baton. You attempt to go slowly and you are pretty sure that you got at least the movement right.

                “Did that look good?”

                “Yes, but the movement will have to be a great deal faster. Each motion will have to be done with intention and this time with the intention to do damage.”

                “Hmm,” you turn to face him, “but it _was_ right.” You smirk and poke the end of your ornate staff into his side.

                “Essentially, but now for the real test,” he smirks and gestures toward the box.

                “Easy peas-y lemon squeeze-y,” you taunt and Solas screws up his face in confusion.

                “What did you just say Herald?” _Oh come on. They have to have lemons here…_

                You quietly scold yourself and say, “That means this will be too simple for words.”

                “Truly?” Solas searches your face for a moment and steps farther from you. “Have at it then.”

                You take a breath to steady your nerves and quiet your mind. Remembering that your thoughts and intensions have a big impact on the outcome in how well the spell is cast, you concentrate on what you want to happen to the crate and begin your movements. It almost feels as though the cold from the ice beneath you rushes up and through your body. When you bring your staff down to connect with the ice you throw your magic at the crate. Once complete, you are positive you nailed it. Tentatively you open your eyes to find the box covered in a layer of ice. Not as thick as the one Solas produced, but definitely something you could get behind. You turn to Solas to gloat, or rather attempt to turn because to your absolute horror your feet are not moving. In the distance you can hear Varric cackling, “Ah Snowy, living up to your name are you?”

                “How bad is it Solas,” you can hardly keep your voice from shaking and you refuse to look down at your own feet. Instead you opt to bore your eyes into his. At this point, you are pretty sure one of the spells you attempt will definitely be the death of you. _I’ve got to get a handle on this._

                His eyes are glimmering with amusement, “While you managed to sheathe the crate with ice, you also somehow managed to cover your feet in ice as well. So, in battle that could be the difference between life and death. Here, it just leaves me feeling very confused about how your keeper taught you to wield magic.”

                Giving in to your own curiosity, you look down at your feet and sure enough, they are covered in ice up to the ankles. You wince when you try to yank your right foot upward. _Bad plan._ “It is too thick to just break isn’t it?”

                “I would say so Herald.” Solas says with the amused and somehow smug look plastered on his face.

                “Right now I don’t really trust myself to melt this ice and I can’t stay here all night.” You look pleadingly into his eyes; not wanting to give up your last vestiges of pride by asking him to melt it for you.

                He clasps his hands behind his back and rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, “No, that probably would not be wise. After all, it will only continue to get colder.”

                Clearly, he is not going to take pity on you by offering to help you out. _Smug asshole._ “Solas, you would be doing me another huge favor if you could get my feet out of this ice please.”

                He still does not make any moves to help you out, opting instead to taunt you some more. “Yes, I am certain I would be.”

                _What an arrogant piece of shit._ You do your best mockery of a courtly bow and in your most saccharine voice you say, “Please melt the ice from me feet ‘oh great Solas.’”

                When you rise, you see him shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, “There was no need for that.”

                “No?”

                “No.” He walks briskly over to you and sets to work melting the ice from your feet. With him knelt in front of you, you can tell just how bald he is—not even a follicle is left on his scalp. _Incredible._ You remember your mother telling you once that rubbing a bald man’s head was good luck, and manage to stop yourself just before connecting with the top of Solas’. _Probably not the best idea._ You feel water begin to seep into your shoes and cautiously move your right foot upward.

                “I’m free,” you exclaim lifting your feet and dancing a little jig, “can I try again?”

                “Do you really think it wise Herald,” Solas sighs, but still moves to where he had been standing before the previous attempt.

                “Probably not,” you shrug, “but how will I ever improve if I don’t fail sometimes.” _What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger right?_

                “Some words of advice,” Solas says approaching you once more walking behind you, “try not to overthink it—and properly square your hips. Is it okay if I adjust your stance?”

                “Sure, but how exactly do you not overthink it?” You are desperately trying not to focus on his hands on your hips, but the warmth of his palms trickles through your jacket to your skin. _They must still be warm from freeing my feet._

                “Practice. Now, try again lest you lose your mettle.”

                Again, valiantly attempting to ignore his hands holding your hips in place, you focus on how your feet felt when they were trapped in the ice. You draw on that, and the cold around you—bringing it into yourself. Strangely, Frozone from the Incredibles pops into your head and makes you laugh. Earning you a sidelong glance from your teacher. _Where’s my supersuit?_ You picture how he incased the robot in ice. _I wonder if you can cast spells without a staff here._ Still amused by your memories of the character, you pull your own staff up then through the motions, and try not to overthink it. You close your eyes and send your magic through the air.

                “Ah, you see Herald. Sometimes you must lose focus to gain what you want.”

                When you open your eyes, they immediately go to your feet first which are entirely ice free. Then, they fly to the box which is cover in a snowy looking ice. _It doesn’t look like his or the ice I had the last time._ “But it is different than yours.”

                “Do you expect magic to be uniform from person to person? Is your magic exactly like your Keeper’s?”

                “Well…” _Now how do I answer this?_

“I suspected not.” _I guess I did not have to explain at all._ You are still amazed that he took your panicked silence as a response. Then he continues, “Now like I said before we started this last endeavor, we end should end it here.”

                Smiling at him as the two of you walk back toward Varric, you thank him. He simply brushes it off, but you don’t fail to notice that he offered you his arm as the two of you make the journey back to shore.  

                “Oh come on now Solas, it isn’t anyone’s fault but Snowy’s that she got cold feet,” Varric makes another joke at your expense.

                “Varric,” you gasp pretending to be mortified, “who said anything about marriage? I didn’t know you’d proposed.”

                Your banter catches him off guard. _Maybe I’ve spent too much time around Drina and Edmund._ But he quickly recovers winking at you, “Bianca already beat you to the punch my fair Herald.” _Or maybe not._

                “Thwarted at every turn,” you smile back at Varric.

                After thanking Solas one last time and telling Varric good night, you head back toward your cabin. Not surprisingly, shortly after leaving the company of the duo and just before you cross the threshold to your own slice of Have, you hear the clanking of armor behind you.

                “Honestly Gloria,” Edmund claps you on the back, “how did you manage to get the spell so wrong that your feet were your target rather than the large crate in front of you? It was rather hard to miss.”

                Turn around to face him you laugh, “Clearly you missed the crate because you failed to notice that both times it was covered in ice.”

                Putting his hands in the air in surrender Edmund smirks, “My mistake Herald. I just wanted to tell you that someone else will be here in my stead tonight as I have yet to prepare my own things for our trip tomorrow.”

                “Thank you Lord Edmund.” You curtsey and throw a wink over your shoulder as you head back into your cabin.

                Honestly, you think that today was probably the best day you had here, but you can’t help but think of home. _Wherever here is._ _With any luck, the Hinterlands don’t prove to be too much to handle_. You finish packing your things into your rucksack, your thoughts drift to Sasha. Despite the fun you had been having earlier, now all you want to do is sit on the floor and cry but you know that even the walls have eyes. So, as you pack you try to brush away your tears as the fall and silently hope that she is doing okay. Once you are done preparing you are completely exhausted, learning a new skill while trying to maintain this facade has really started to wear on your psyche. As you drift off to sleep, all you think of Sasha and hope beyond hope that you get to see her again.


	20. Into the Hinterlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are thoughts of the MC.
> 
> This story is inspired by Dragon Age: Inquisition which is owned by Bioware.

                You wake up, feeling only slightly more rested than when you had fallen asleep. _No thanks to this damn mattress._ Trying to stretch the stiffness from your muscles, you reach over your head. Not feeling up to talking to someone quite yet, you make every effort to get into your armor as quietly and quickly as possible—which admittedly is quite difficult given the state of your body. Honestly, you never really thought that you could miss a blowup mattress and yet, here you were, glaring down at hay stuffed into some canvas doing exactly that. Willing yourself to be ready for what was certain to be a rough few weeks you reach for your staff you and remember the lesson you had yesterday with Solas and smile. You would be hard pressed to find something more embarrassing than surrounding your own feet in solid ice, but at least you’d learned something.

                Before opening the door, you hesitate thinking that it would probably be a good idea to at least attempt to remember what would be awaiting you as you headed to the Hinterlands. You pace around your tiny space trying to rack your brain for any important details. Off the top of your head you remember that this is when you meet Scout Harding and that there are many Red Templars as well as rebel mages present. From what you recall, the Hinterlands are not a friendly place to begin with and you shudder as you remember that dragons are a very real thing here. _I better be on my toes._ Feeling dread settle into the pit of your stomach, you wish that you had paid better attention to the beginning part of the game or had a better memory _._ Rather than face the music just yet, you decide to slip out of your window and attempt to find the weapons maker, his name was something like Hagrid and if memory served his hut was just a little bit away from the Chantry. As silently as you can manage, you pull yourself through the small frame and try your best to stealth your way across Haven. Much to your surprise you are able to pull off the feat losing your escort of soldiers for the time being. _Edmund is going to be so pissed._

                Shaking off the thought of your friend’s impending bad mood you continue toward the blacksmith’s hut. The road to the hut is lined with snow and you clutch your arms a little closer to your chest in an attempt to keep warm. _Maybe it will be warmer in the Hinterlands._ That’s when it hits you, you have no idea how big Thedas actually is because in the game you always fast travel. You get lost in thought which makes the trip to the outskirts of the camp seem shorter than it is. When the blacksmith spots you approaching as he shoos off a woman with a weird mark on his head.

                “I never liked mages much, but Tranquil I can handle far better,” the man extends his hand, “I am Harritt by the way. Everyone knows who you are Herald.”

                 “Nice to meet you, and please call me Gloria,” you smile admiring his handlebar mustache. It has been a while since you’d seen one in real life and it tickles your funny bone making you giggle a bit.

                Confusion slides across Harritt’s face for a brief moment before he continues, “How does the new gear fit?”

                _Ahh, so he must have been the one who gifted you the new armor and staff._ “Quite well, thank you. It keeps me surprisingly warm. Are you the one who made it?”

                “No, though I wish I had. The craftsmanship is absolutely stunning. If you need any of your other equipment worked on or anything new made for you I am your man though.”

                “Actually, I was wondering if I could have some warmer gloves made. The metal of my staff makes it difficult to grip in this cold weather—I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone on accident.”

                “Of course. It should only be a few hours.”

                “No rush, I’m headed to the Hinterlands soon,” you inform him.

                Walking away from the empty stables you thank Harritt for his time and decide to head to the Chantry even though every fiber of your being is telling you to turn around and head back into your own hut, burrow under the sheets, and stay there until the Breach swallows Haven. Luckily for you, part your entourage comes clanking up at a high rate of speed.

                “Gloria,” Edmund breathes, “thank the Maker. Why did you sneak off like that?”

                “I just needed some time to wander about. By myself,” you say pointedly. Even though you had managed to get some time alone, you still hadn’t had much time to remember what was really coming for you once you left Haven. You still aren’t even sure how real all of this is. Though, the list of things you do know is growing longer by the day: you know it hurts when you are injured, you know that you can wield magic, and you know that those you have seen die seemed to be very real not just to those around you but to you too. No one has seemed to question your existence in Thedas, but then again, no one from “your clan” has actually seen you—maybe things be different if you had someone who knew you before the incident. Your thoughts start to spiral out of control, but you regain control of them in time to tune back into the more important, and last part of what Edmund was telling you.

                “Drina came by and said that they were waiting for you by the chantry and to come at once.”

                _Always “at once.”_

                “Of course,” you trudge next to Edmund as he continues to ream you about your absence asking an inordinate number of times whether you know how dangerous it is for you to sneak off like that.

                “What’s going to get me,” you finally sigh exasperatedly, “a nug?”

                Edmund takes you by the shoulders to force you to look toward him, “not everyone wishes you well Gloria. There are those who think you caused the Breach and would see you executed for your perceived crimes.”

                Looking down at the ground you reply, “I know. Chancellor Roderick made it very clear what he wants to do.”

                “But he is not the only one,” he scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m sorry for being so blunt, but I need you to know there is more at stake here Herald.”

                “I know and I’m sorry for not telling you when I left. I just needed to clear my head.” _Not that it helped._ The two of you continue your march to the chantry in silence. You really had not meant to make Edmund worry so much, but you hadn’t really thought about the fact that those around you could take their own perceived form of justice out on you. _It would be over before I even had a chance to return to Sasha._

                When you finally arrive at the Chantry, Cassandra takes one look at the admittedly harried Edmund and grunts, “I’ll take it from here.”

                You look over your shoulder apologetically at him while she escorts you toward the wagons.

                “We have been waiting for you,” she says as she continues toward what appeared to be a pile of your things. _Who collected these?_

                “I’m sorry, I…” you begin but Cassandra gives you no quarter.

                “Try to be more timely in the future—lives are at stake,” she shakes her head, “while you and Edmund were off gallivanting, we were able to organize you the items you’ll need to make the trip to speak with Mother Giselle.”

                “Edmund wasn’t gallivanting, I was,” you try to defend your friend, “this doesn’t look like much.” There were two wagons stacked with supplies and the only horses there were the four which pulled the wagons. It seemed as though you would be taking only the bare essentials and some additional supplies to the camps already established in the Hinterlands. Clearly, you were not meant to be a supply booster. You had hoped not to have to walk the whole way but there did not really seem to be a way around it.

                Pinching her nose Cassandra responds, “No, it isn’t much—we need to make the best time possible. The trip from here to the camp Agent Harding has set up should not be too long.”

                “Great,” you mutter looking through the crowd to see if Drina was among the faces, “who will be accompanying me—besides Edmund.”

                “I, of course will be coming with you. Along with Solas, Varric, and a small retinue of soldiers,” Cassandra lists off their names, but you are too caught on the fact that Drina wasn’t mentioned that you forget to listen.

                “Will Drina be coming with us,” you interrupt earning a sidelong glare from Cassandra.

                “What good would that do,” she counters, “Drina has no outstanding talents from what I am told.”

                “She could be useful for an extra pair of hands to keep track of all of the items we are bringing with us to the Hinterlands. Besides, the only outstanding talent I have is a mark on my hand.”

                You feel a hand clap you on the back, “Don’t sell yourself short Snowy. You’re also pretty talented at tripping and encasing things in ice.” Varric appears at your side chuckling as your face turns red.                

                “Shut. Up. Varric,” you enunciate every syllable.

                “Regardless,” Cassandra refocuses the two of you like a mother would bickering children, “We do not have many horses and those of us not driving the wagons will be walking all the way to the Hinterlands. Are you certain you would like to subject Drina to that Herald?”

                “No, I suppose not,” you shrug, “but it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

                Swatting at the air as if there were a particularly annoying bug she relents, “Fine. If you must have Drina then find her. Quickly.”

                Practically sprinting through Haven you search out your friend and you finally stumble upon her just outside of the soldier encampment. “Drina! Come on, we are about to leave for the Hinterlands.”

                “I really shouldn’t be going with you Gloria,” she stands with her back toward you looking out at the lake.

                “Are you sure Drina,” you sing at her, sauntering up to her side.

                Turning toward you slowly she looks directly into your eyes, “I was told I would be staying here. Who gave the okay for me to go?”

                “Cassandra did when I asked about if you were—” you are unable to finish because Drina is stalking away from you toward the caravan.

                You walk/run next to Drina all the way back to Cassandra who nods at Drina, “then I suppose we are all prepared to make this journey—is that correct?”

                Taking your place next to Edmund, you and your party begin the journey to the Hinterlands. Cassandra explained on the way that it shouldn’t take more than two weeks for you to get to the camp Agent Harding had established because she kept sending ravens to ensure you missed the worst of the fighting. Though at times you could hear the sounds of battle not far off—the entire time the soldiers were on edge and Drina had yet to talk to you since leaving Haven. Something was definitely off but you could not quite figure out why. You had tried to grill Edmund about it, but he seemed to know much about the subject so you’d finally given up on using him as a resource. _She’ll tell me when she’s ready._ About a week into traveling you began to get a little fidgety—you didn’t really seem to be making much progress and decided to do some self-improvement.

                “Hey Sooolas,” you sing, bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet.

                “Seems like she’s going to ask you something Chuckles,” Varric laughs from across the fire.

                “So it would seem,” Solas responds completely apathetic.

                “Oh come on,” you exclaim, “I promise it will be fun.”

                “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Snowy,” Varric says suddenly becoming very interested in the logs on the edge of the fire.

                “I’m not,” you smirk, “Solas, could you please teach me how to control that thing where you use magic to push you forward.”

                Shaking his head, “I’m sorry. The what?”

                “That thing where you push yourself forward.”

                “You’ve already said that Herald—repetition is useless,” Solas sighs.

                Getting an idea, you tug at Solas’ tunic until he is standing, “I’ll just show you then.”

                “This I’ve got to see,” Varric snickers the clouds leaving his eyes.

                “Yes, be sure to lead us far from the caravan Herald,” Solas laughs, “lest anyone be injured aside from yourself.”

                “What’s that about Gloria getting injured,” Edmund sidles up beside Varric. _Oh great, an audience._

                “Snowy here just asked Solas to teach her how to fade step,” Varric muses.

                Embarrassed and outraged you grumble, “if you knew what I was talking about, Varric, then you should have told Solas.”

                “I’m pretty sure Chuckles knew too and was just giving you a hard time,” Varric smirks backing up with his hands in the air.

                _I am so done with all of them_. Moving toward the outside of the camp you can hear Varric making Edmund laugh and you find yourself smiling because you are happy Edmund found another person who he enjoys spending time with while on this excursion to the Hinterlands. Turning toward Solas you ask, “Is this far enough?”

                “I do not think you could do much damage this far out,” he worries his brow, “but do try to be careful.”

                “So Solas, what do I have to do to—you know…” you had already forgotten what it was called again.

                “Fade step,” Edmund offers.

                “Yes, so how do I fade step,” you beam.

                “To put it simply,” Solas responds, “you must envision yourself being propelled forward. Perhaps it would be best for me to demonstrate.” Solas grabs your arm to direct your attention to face toward where he intends to fade step.

                “Sure,” you blush at the contact.

                “Pay attention,” he releases you. Readying himself, Solas focuses on the horizon and suddenly there is a whooshing sound, a cool breeze, a trail of frost, and Solas is no longer near you.

                “Wait,” you look from where he was to where he is, “did you just do that without your staff?”

                “Yes, but I suggest you still hold onto yours. Doing magic without it can lead to unexpected results unless you are experienced—which you are not,” he resumes his position next to you, “go ahead Herald.”

                “Are you supposed to leave frost behind you,” you stall.

                “Only if you are skilled enough,” he considers for a moment, “I suggest you just focus on moving forward.”

                You can hear Varric start laughing at the jab Solas just threw your way, and you shake your head moving slightly away from them.

                _You can do this Glo._ You pick your head up and focus toward where the sky meets the land. You envision what you had seen Solas just do. Figuring the movement is just like being pushed from behind, you close your eyes to concentrate on how that would feel. You anticipate the jolting, and you begin to feel your magic build behind you like a compressed spring. Opening your eyes, you release your pent up magic and go hurtling forward. It almost felt like riding a rollercoaster or sticking your head out of a moving car, but the stop is more abrupt than you are anticipating and you see the ground coming quickly toward your face. Suddenly you are encased soft cool magic, hovering above the ground looking at where your nose should have smashed against the ground. Turning toward Solas you see a look you can’t quite place flash across his face, and then just as soon as you were saved you’re dropped. The air exits your lungs and you start coughing feeling the burning sensation of being breathless.

                “Maker Solas, you could’ve at least set her down gently,” you hear Edmund admonish as he walks toward you to make sure that you are alright.

                “She has to know there are consequences for not controlling her magic. The Herald is lucky I stopped her from grave injury,” he retorts as you roll over onto your back.

                Kneeling beside you Edmund brushes your hair from your forehead, “Are you alright Gloria?”

                Propping yourself up on your elbows, “I think so—Solas is right, he did save me from the worst of it.”

                “I’m sure he’s right, with how fast you were going you should at least be unconscious,” Edmund pulls you to your feet smiling as you dust yourself off.

                “Again Herald,” Solas points at where you started from, “try to stay upright. This is supposed to be simple.” Sighing you retake your position.

                 “You can do it Snowy,” Varric cheers from behind you.

                Aching a little from your fall, you steel yourself for your next attempt when your teacher comes up to your side, “Do not let your magic build too much or you will be in the same position you were last time.”

                You try to refocus on the horizon, but find yourself too afraid to try again. Keeping your eyes glued forward you ask, “Will you catch me again if I make a mistake?”

                “I assure that you will not fall too hard,” Solas replies. _Assuring, asshole._

                Looking at the spot where you almost planted your face a few moments again, you imagine the feeling of being pushed again and close your eyes. Again, you feel your magic building, however, this time you release just as you feel like you are about to sprint. You open your eyes and find the horizon moving toward you while the wind blows through your hair. Although you are just a little bit past your intended target you consider it a win. Beaming you turn toward Varric, Edmund, and Solas.

                “Sometimes pain can be the best teacher,” Solas nods, “now try coming back.”

                You get into the stance, but Solas interrupts you, “no, backwards. In battle you may not have the time to look for an out and just have to move.”

                Feeling a little silly, you turn your back on your party and try to imagine the sensation of being pushed backwards. Letting your magic build again, you ready yourself to fade step backwards and release. Your hair blows into your face, and you have to grip your staff to steady yourself but you manage to get it on your first try. A smug smile makes its way across your face as you turn toward your party again. “Am I good or am I great?”

                “Adequate,” Solas deadpans, “we should return to camp before you tire yourself out for our journey tomorrow.”

                “Great,” Edmund nudges your side with his elbow, “you did great.”

                “Thanks Edmund,” you lean slightly toward your friend conspiratorially, “I think bugs crawled under Solas’ tunic. That’s why he is so cranky.”

                “Or perhaps it is merely tiring trying to keep a bumbling fool from unintentionally killing herself,” Solas throws over his shoulder—not even deigning to look back.

                Without missing a beat Edmund says, “Bugs. There is nothing else it could be for an apostate as skilled as you.”

                Laughing you part from the three of them as you head toward your tent, you cannot help but feel grateful that Edmund has become such a source of support for you. While you hated to admit that Solas was right, you know that you are going to be sore tomorrow and are grateful he had suggested to stop before you felt truly drained. Due to your position as Herald, you were given your own tent though you were not sure if it was because of your position or because everyone was scared of your mark. If you were completely honest with yourself you thought it was the latter. Deciding it was probably best if you slept early tonight you laid down to try to sleep. However, as you lay staring at the top of tent you kept seeing your sisters face and hearing her laugh in the laughter of those still around the fire. _I hope she is okay and nothing like this happened to her._ Sitting up trying to shake the idea of her being trapped in Thedas or worse, Lordran, an idea pops into your head. What if you could bring magic in from a different universe—say Harry Potter for instance.

                Immediately you try to remember a spell that is not Avada Kedavra and settle on Lumos. You try grasping your staff and saying the spell. Nothing happens. You try at least six more times before you toss your staff to the side muttering to yourself, “it would be my luck that even Lumos wouldn’t work.” Suddenly, there is a soft, cool light coming from your hands. You shriek with delight and scramble from your tent toward Solas’.

                “Solas” you knock as best as you can on his tent and exclaim, practically jumping out of your skin, “look.”

                Bleary eyed he opens the flap to the tent he shares with Varric, “What is the meaning of—” He doesn’t stop to finish the thought before examining grasping my hands in his. “Did the mark do this?”

                “No,” you exclaim, “I did it! I just was able to cast a spell without my staff.”

                “Remarkable,” he furrows his brow though his eyes never leave your palms, “given the magic I’ve seen you produce. This is unprecedented when you are not under duress.”

                “Hey,” you fidget, “I know I’m not all that but I can do somethings.”

                “Far less than you should be to accomplish,” he shakes his head.

                “Wow, don’t you think that’s a little harsh!”

                “No, you have shown some talent but little skill.” _Seriously, come on, for just getting here I think I am doing quite well._

                “Interesting,” Cassandra appears at your side, “I did not think her capable of sustaining a spell with her staff for this long—much less without.” _Where the hell did she come from?_

                 “Seeker, what do you,” Solas begins but she cuts him off.

                “What can the Herald actually do,” Cassandra grunts disgustedly at him, “I was tasked with reviewing all of your notes determine her usefulness. From my findings, I know that you think she has potential—yet even you seem shocked by this ability of hers.”

                Solas finally looks up from the orb in your hand, “It is as you say Seeker.”

“Have you been taking notes on me,” you ask a little lost.

                Cassandra continues without even acknowledging you’d spoken, “As long as the Herald is in control of the spell it should be no more an issue than any other magic she performs—but I would prefer if you kept a closer eye on her apostate.”

                Before Solas can say anything more, you yank your hands from his the ball of light falling to the ground, “You still don’t trust me.” You scream, frustrated that no one was deigning to even talk to you. Grabbing Cassandra by her collar, you pull her face closer to yours as if just looking at her face can tell you what you want to know.

                She easily shrugs out of your grasp, “Calm down Herald. Yes, as a Seeker it is my responsibility to ensure the people of Thedas are safe from all types of unknown magic. Which, as it stands, you are.”

                “I still don’t understand,” you are so confused. _What else aren’t they telling me about this mark?_

                “I was not so concerned about the attention your mark garners,” she steadily holds your gaze, “but, I am concerned with how someone so seemingly inexperienced can maintain any a spell without being detected by an experienced Seeker.”

                “What do you mean,” you look down at where the small orb had fallen.

                “How did you do it Herald,” Edmund stands now between you and the Seeker, again, making you wonder what he would do if you were deemed a threat.

                Picking up the small light, which seems like much less of an achievement now than it did before, you wonder for a moment whether or not you should tell the truth before you lie again. _If they don’t trust me—I can’t trust them._

                Before you can even answer the question Cassandra turns away from you, “Solas, do you think she is hiding anything from us?”

                 “No Seeker,” his eyes narrow on your face, “I think the Herald truly does not know what she has done. During our lessons it is very apparent she lacks experience.” _Ouch._

                 “Herald if there is anything you are not telling us now would be the time,” Cassandra scowls at you it is very apparent that she doesn’t trust you.

                The blood is pulsing in your ears, it is terrifying to see that look on Cassandra’s face again only Edmund squeezing your hand brings you enough confidence to say, “I really don’t know much about magic. Solas is right, I do lack training. I was just trying to find a way to make myself useful.”

                Seemingly satisfied Cassandra turns away from you stalking toward her tent and the crowd around Solas and Varric’s tent disperses.

                 “Now, tell me honestly, what did you to do to manifest this orb,” Solas plucks the light from your hands to examine it. _Do I tell him the truth?_

                Deciding telling a partial truth at this point is better than continuing with a whole lie, “I thought about something I’d read before and I just thought it could be helpful,” you shrug your shoulders.

                 “I thought you couldn’t read Snowy,” Varric crosses his arms across his chest. _Shit._

                 “You’re right, I can’t read Common but I taught mom taught me how to read some other books,” you cover albeit very poorly. You can see that Varric doesn’t quite believe you, but he keeps his comments to himself. Memories of sunny days sitting with your mother while she helped you read the Sorcerer’s Stone threaten to overtake you, again, you’re grounded when Edmund squeezes your hand again.

                 “I see,” Solas stares at you impassively as you fight to regain your composure, “Perhaps utilizing your knowledge of this book would be helpful for future lessons.”

                 “Right,” you wipe away an errant tear, “I think I should go to sleep.”

                 “Before you do Herald,” Solas places the light back into your hands, “this should be extinguished. There is no need to overwork yourself by keeping it lit.”

                 “Sure,” you scramble through your mind to remember the counter spell after all the stress you just went through and manage to whisper, “nox.” The light breaks into millions of tiny pieces, dimming as they floats off on a breeze. Without waiting to hear what either of them have to say you turn toward your tent. Sleep still doesn’t come easily to you and when you awake you find that you had been crying in your dreams. It had been a happy dream about your childhood playing with Sasha as your mother had grilled on the back porch—a simple family day. Waking to find yourself on the hard ground had been more disappointing than it had been for a while. Taking your time you fret about what to do now that you have told your half-truth. Rather than leave you decide to do a little bit of “yoga” which is really just stretching in whatever ways you remember.

                Once you’ve finished wasting time that way you look around your small haven for another way to whittle away a few minutes and come up short. Worrying your hands through your hair, you stop at your pointed ears. Although you don’t have a mirror you can still see the almost violent point they now have and you wonder for a moment if you’ll ever be yourself again. As you continue to think, your thoughts start to spiral to an even darker place you know that you should not venture toward so you flipped your pillow over to the dry side, closing your eyes trying to hold onto your dream for a few moments longer. Trying to reassure yourself that you can make it through this and anything else Thedas can throw at you, you curl into a ball, wrapping your arms around your legs you lay there. In that moment, you imagine your mother’s hand on your back rubbing in small circles telling you that everything is going to be alright. All too soon, you are ripped from the illusion when Edmund knocks your tent.

                 “Gloria, the rest of the camp has been up for a while. I’ve brought you some food,” his voice clearly pleading for you to open the flap.

                Trying to tame your hair and hoping your eyes aren’t too red, you open the tent just enough to see Edmund kneeling in front of your tent with a plate of food and a steaming cup of something. “Thanks Edmund,” you grab the food and drink with the intent to retreat back into the tent.

                Before you manage to get a good grip on the he pulls it out of the tent causing you to tumble out after it, “you can’t hide forever Gloria. We’re still a few days till we reach the Hinterlands camp.”

                Even though Edmund has a point, right now you his trickery is grating, “Jeeze, Edmund. You didn’t have to literally drag me from my tent.”

                 “Yes, yes I did Herald,” he laughs, “I knew you were avoiding coming out of the tent after what happened last night.”

                Despite your best efforts to stay angry, you can’t instead opting to push Edmund gently and grab the food. You still don’t want to go very far so you sit outside of your tent. _Progress right?_ Surprisingly, Edmund sits with you the entire time you are eating, even though the others are busy around the two of you making quick work of the camp. Although you are silent, it doesn’t seem to deter Edmund from telling you story after story about his childhood. Hearing him talk about the fun he’d had with siblings when he was little, and the trouble they would get to on their family’s property. You try to pay attention to him rather than starting to think again about your own family—the less you focus them right now the better. When Edmund stops talking you find yourself in a much better mood than you had been when you’d be pulled from your tent.

                 “Thanks Edmund,” you place your hand on his.

                Shrugging he grins ruffling your hair, “for what? For what it’s worth—I don’t think you’re a liar. They’re wrong about you. You’re trying your best to do what you can.” _If he only knew the half of it._

                The two of you made quick work of your tent and helped the others pack the rest of the materials into the wagons. However, from the corner of your eye you could see the soldiers watching you more closely than they had before. Trying to ignore them, you stick closer to Edmund who seems more than willing to distract you and surprisingly Drina comes out of the woodwork. Closing rank on your other side, Drina makes you feel secure despite your apparently precarious position. For the next few days of the trip you decide to keep to yourself and even though you knew it would be risky to practice magic on your own, you did anyway. However, where people could see you, you stuck to those that Solas had taught you, avoiding doing spells from elsewhere in front of others to prevent further suspicions from falling on you. So far, you had been able to easily grasp some basic spells—practically becoming a professional at casting barriers and using ice as a weapon. However, you still tended to overpower your fade step leaving you with bumps and bruises. At night you would rack your mind for the less dangerous spells from Harry Potter and you think you have some of them down—not that any of them would be particularly useful in battle. Your proudest moment so far had been the levitation of a relatively large log just outside of camp. As your party drew closer to the Hinterlands the fighting grew worse, however, utilizing markers from Scout Harding you had been able to make through without encountering any skirmishes. _Perhaps I should talk to Solas again—show him my improvements._

                You sought out Solas, he was toward the back of the party walking behind the wagons, “Hey, I’ve been working on my magic. I don’t think am I as useless now.”

                 “Herald, I never called you useless,” Solas sighs, “it is just that you are not as trained as one would expect.”

                 “I understand,” you say only to be interrupted.

                 “No, I do not think you do,” Solas turns to you, “if you expect me to continue helping you learn, you must be honest with me.”

                Wringing your hands you stare pointedly ahead, ignoring the elf’s gaze, “I have been honest with you.” _Mostly._

                Regarding you for a moment he says, “I noticed you used words to extinguish the light. Do you find that helpful?”

                 “Yeah, I guess, but I never really thought about it.”

                 “Perhaps that would be useful in our lessons.”

                 “I’ve been practicing what you taught me and I think I’ve been doing just fine.”

                Amusement plays across his features, “I am certain you do. However, we barely dipped our toes into the lake.”

                 “I know,” you say excitedly, “but with your help, I am sure I will be able to anything I want in no time.”

                Barely concealing his laughter he responds, “you place a great deal of faith in me Gloria.”

                You open your mouth to reply, but as you do an arrow flies between the two of you landing with a resounding thump into the wood of your wagon. Shortly after you feel the familiar, cool magic of Solas’ barrier slide over your skin as he swiftly places himself between you and wherever the arrow came from.

                 “Herald, you need to stay behind me,” he yells without turning to make sure you are listening, “offer what support you can, but do not overreach yourself.”

                It doesn’t take long for the culprits to emerge from the woods around your caravan and descend upon your group. However, as quickly as they appear they begin to fall one after the other. Just as Cassandra makes it to where you and Solas are standing you see a dwarf emerge from the woods as well, “Welcome to the Hinterlands Seeker, I’m Scout Harding. Pleasure to meet you.”


End file.
